I want to believe in a more beautiful future.
Oh, you think I’m foolish? Foolishness is the counterweight to seriousness.
Like a cool breath of wind on a pot of hot tea.
Chaos tempers tension. Whimsy tempers nerves.
We’re squatting in the garden. We’re piling up onions in the greenhouse,
long tendrils, fresh smell, dry newspaper, old boxes.
Will you put up a picture? Will they know who I was?

Depth of mystery, won’t you speak to me? I carry you with me, always.

And I remember sneaking upstairs to the room where the old organ lulled
in the corner by the window, years of dust in the keys,
and it still played.
And also piles of big pointed brushes
which A-ma used to write
in slick black strokes
on thick rich paper

Heck, I have had one or two of those big brushes, myself,
but my hand was always unsteady and illiterate
and children are given water, not ink.

grinning young man in a Hawaiian shirt
And I am giggling driving home
it’s alright, you don’t have to understand my purpose
it will be worth it one day to everyone
life is what we make it.
don’t you want to make this happen?
oh fuck yeah I do.
yes yes I do.
I found my perpetual mystery.
I find him tantalizing.
Sweet late summer days, thank you, I give you praise.
Without you,
I shudder to think

I was fed up because life felt so empty.
Cold apartments and an unfulfilled heart.
I just wanted a home and a friend around.
My only friend was the Puget Sound.

Let me put this doll back together
She’ll work just as well, maybe even better.
and I am giggling driving home,
and I feel, I don’t know, hopeful?
and I just know
oh I just know what to say

don’t ever fall for anybody saying they understand you
those are the ones who give themselves the right to reprimand you
and in the end, zero in on everything you can’t do
they won’t follow through even if they planned to

there’s a black light burning brighter
than the moonshine, the igniter
all the purpose on the pyre
all is worthless in the fire

and there’s no reason left to sleep
when all the good dreams are really happening
he looks at me and I feel it unraveling
the golden touch, the majesty

the lilac, the cognac, the straight face, the gay laugh
the quiet before the heart attack
Can I please have it all back?

the windows, the pillows, the breezes and the billows
it’s cold here but god knows
there is life still in the primrose

Because I cannot feel the way
your arms feel around me
I turn on the radio,
but it’s radio silence //

Hoping to find my direction
I keep looking for the signs
But the highway’s oddly empty
I just see mile 28 //

[Sometimes I just need to shut the fuck up]

//
Poison is better
when consumed with a lover

I’m scared of a storm for the first time
though this rain is miraculous
I prefer its quiet murmur
to the whispers of self-doubt
or the ominous thunder
or the rush of the wind

The future is yet unknown
It lies before me
a tantalizing spread
Untouched, shining, succulent, promising
and I need to take my time
I need to savor every moment

I hope that my sun blooms soon
and cuts across my sky
I saw the lightning crash
and shake
the purpose back into life
So now, God, please let me wake
to a brighter day
and some kind of certainty

tried to sing but I can’t anymore
had a dream about the little house on Fir St
woke up with a lump in my throat
woke up and that’s all she wrote

I’m fairly sure I’m not meant to be happy
I’m fairly sure I’m meant to be blue

and in my dream they were all just waiting
they wanted me back so it must not be true

my tongue turns to paper, I’m catching on fire
and forging an aegis for you.

who puts the lining into the cloud

there’s nothing wrong with the clouds,
though they pass us by,
and no law against looking
at the pink eastern sky

though trouble may be brewing,
it brews only in your eye

beautiful things

for me, too
they look so tantalizing
like fresh white roses

merely trinkets

I don’t think of anyone else now
the rain was familiar, but it really brought me down
you’re like a rainbow if it wasn’t ephemeral
I pray that you’ll last, even prayers are temporal
we need the past
but the present is seminal

the series of which
counted carefully
paced peacefully
revealing nearly nothing
but the deep fog
passing over your eyes
a beautiful glaze
entreats something special
essentially unheard of
to me
a smooth and quiet existence
the sensation of perpetual goodness
not defining identity
but driving purpose

keep them
they are sacred meditations
envy is a toxin
and true love is the antidote
disquiet may linger
but patience
will be
my liniment

pulled in all directions, but not you
constant net of interest
swallowing the past is much easier said than done
i thought i was the future, perhaps I am not.
fascinating, the way the silence shows
I miss the shipyard’s horn blows
but not the rush of 23rd Avenue
but perhaps the evergreens
and the kingdom of crows.

I very much would like straight answers
and perhaps a good memoir
and perhaps ink for my pen, or letter-paper
whether or not it’s been written on before.

it’s very strange to ask me
what more do I need?
I eat, drink, sleep
and I want no reward.