There, against the wall

There,
Against the wall
With paint lightened
By the oil of her face,
She laughed,
And her toes curled.

Her
Teeth, white, tried
To hold in the noise,
Failing, though
She didn’t really care
And she kept scrolling.

Life
Seemed to stay
In each frame she saw,
While, falling, the
Stars stayed outside
And her eyes closed.

Took
A second to lose
Thoughts of there, to
Replace them with flying,
But she did,
And she became weightless.

On
Remembering gravity,
Sand filled her shoulders,
Though her head floated,
Bobbing to the laughter,
And reality left her.

Another
Breath awoke her to
A moment in the present,
Passed as quickly from
Her as the second,
And she continued in the loop.

swing low

Sweet night comes
To bring us close, to
Find, ‘twixt legs, us:
They whose hands,
Like eyes, wander
If to be witness or
Perpetuator of loop.

If you feel the need to ask how two people sleeping together is reminiscent of a spiritual/physical salvation from day-in/day-out loss of personhood (in modern context: to a materialistic society and, thus, ourselves), you’re not sleeping with someone you love.

How old are you?

How old are you?
What do you want to do
When you grow older, becoming…
What is your favorite word?
Do you smile when you say it, or
When it’s spoken aloud?
Go ahead and tell me
Everything you hold inside,
Hoping one day to let it all go.
Go ahead and tell me
What you keep from yourself
When the lights go out
And you’re alone in the dark,
Giving in to madness to avoid sadness.
Go ahead and tell me
Who you really are,
Who you want to be
And who you cannot continue as.

When we die

When we die,
Place us
Side-by-side,
To make us
Intertwine
In the great make-up
Of this life.

What is not beautiful about becoming a closer, nutrient-providing part of this world? The great churn, the great decay is being part of life. That is life, ex parte. Whether intaking or providing, often in the same action, we, these inhabitants and symbionts of a world most random, are part of a process. Our part will end, surely, as a cognitive state, but we continue in the chain. What is not beautiful about continuation of a grand process, the process that bore us and renews us for use elsewhere? Are we that scared of being minuscule? Love it. Love being a small part.