Fives of thousands of lives
flip so quickly by.
And a movie is rolling,
Maybe its batman.
Are you ready
for the noise?
Are you ready for home?
Are you ready for the realness?
Or will we slip quietly into the dark?
Brooknam,
Much love.
No BK,
All love.
Who loves you the most?
Me.
Growing,
in his snug little cave.
His snug, tiny, grubbly little cave.
He is among the ashes.
Ashes from days long gone.
Ashes that gather and taunt.
Ashes that sully and teach.
Ashes that cloud and mystify
past acts of passion-
past acts of folly.
Pick up that broom
and sweep out the hearth.
Get your house in order
for the school is in session.
The Teacher is in, and
The Master has arrived!
AWAKEN!
(you’re sitting in his seat)
Faint whisper of a cool breeze
blows past dragonflies
Onto my dripping neck.
What was lost
now returns,
Slowly and surely-
Just on time.
Through this cycle-
Through this circle,
We are given opportunity:
Opportunity to create something new
within our ringed prison
of reality.
What will you do
with this time?
This perfect time between
Summer and Autumn?
This time between moments?
This time that only exists once-
except when it comes back.
Take this time
And swallow it.
Then let it swallow you.
It is yours
You belong to it.
Cleave unto
and from.
And build a sandcastle
For the coming storm.
Filled with trees
and shadow,
myth and
dark rumor
of what was
and what might be
lurking behind, and between.
Get lost
if you dare,
in that roiling
morass
of
Possibility.
Or,
run back to the village,
and be comforted
and fattened by love ones-
The forest will be there,
Waiting.
Keep on
Truckin’
Keep on
Keeping on
If at first you don’t succeed…
Bla-Bla-Bla
Why?
Why bother?
For whom?
For what?
When is enough
Enough?
When do you wait for joy to alight onto your forehead?
When do you stop chasing it with a match up your ass?
why the persistence?
why the stubbornness?
Resolve?
No.
Resolve-
love.
Keep at it kid,
SHE’s still conspiring
to get you
what you need.
golden drops of magic,
raining up-
underneath the tree.
a mute chorus
singing of symphonic
glories.
To welcome the
witching hour,
and all that follows her.
Throw back:
“Yo, High Five!”
Throw back:
“Back in ‘95”
Throw back:
“you talkin’ jive”
Friends come
And Friends go..
No.
They never really actually go.
Yet,
they are always returning.
with a new wrinkle
in their life,
in their heart,
and also some
under their eyes too.
when did my pal
become such a man?
when did my chica
learn to master time?
I don’t know,
but I appreciate the space
to find the wonder
that you have become.
the world
was ours
and I know it still is,
when I look in your face,
and see
yesterday
in all its impossible glory.
Put yo hands up
sitting at the bow of a fast ferry heading to an tiny isolated island in the Gulf of Thailand; drinking a 30 cent can of Singha; listening to U2’s Beautiful Day and looking at the sun reflecting off the water and also across the backs of a school tiny little fish which kept pace with the boat, periodically jumping out of the water.
Eat
Sleep
Drink
Fuck.
Pick one,
doesn’t matter.
There is a need
to consume.
To feed.
To fill that hole,
that only grows.
Choose ’em all,
and enjoy none.
Well,
Maybe a little.
theDeprevation 