Be Water, Be Breath

But then your hand touched mine, And isn’t that how galaxies collide? When their sprawling tendrils Reach for each other in the void, And they become something Altogether better by one another?

There is a terrible truth That permeates our stomachs That exists in each strand of our hair That has crept to our toes That was born from our tongues That breathes as we breathe And pisses as we piss

There is a terrible truth That smells of crushed roses And strong thistles Which courses like blood Through our sinews And moves fast enough To exist everywhere

There is a terrible truth That is shown in her soft smile And soothing touch And the way her chest heaves As she breathes for you In the way her eyes shimmer In the cool moonlight And her crevices blend Into the darkness The way she strokes her neck And reads her poetry to you And you cannot recall the color Of her left eye or how long her hair is You cannot recall what she has said, Only how you felt at its deliverance Nor the lines in her skin, Only how you felt at their sight

This is the terrible truth That permeates and seeps And oozes and runs Sloppily slipping out Of our eyes and into Our ears, uncomprehended Have you studied your mind? Do you know that the dying and birthing Of cells and the functionality Of the hippocampus and one’s Amygdala and VTA and Prefrontal Cortex And other baby carrot sized Brain pieces determine Your production of saliva When presented with a naked body?

This terrible truth is such, That we each have the time to give We each have the energy to expel We each can choose to love.

We each see beauty, But, what form it takes in our eyes? This is not up to us to decide.

Ground controlled by chemicals In my brain/I put them there... Why did I put them there?/ Stop standing still Nothing else is stagnant Fuck away the loneliness And create /harmonize, now/screams Of joy at her arrival Finally the one draws into you Who you know will love you And keep you /pedestalled, too high to breath/ Forever, an image of her greatest need And dimmest hope.

She does love, /But just my face/ So due to this commitment I’ll stay clothed.

Precipitous in zero gravity And therefore of no harm/to me/ The world may spin and throw us round But we’ll just defiantly Never come down Ever again.

I saw a fireball tonight, But I didn’t make a wish This time. If this was an earlier time In my life, I might’ve done it Without question, But I’ve outgrown The notion of making a wish To keep something That isn’t mine to ask for, Because I could never degrade you To something I own.

Tell me how your face works. Tell me the names of all the Muscles that bend and flex To form your smile.

Tell me how you walk. Is it a dah-dah dah-dah pattern, or Dah-dum. Dah-dum. Or do you glide?

Tell me how you laugh. The lungs and the throat and The mouth shouldn’t work As beautifully as yours.

Tell me how you melt. I already know why But how, my love, Have you come to this?

Tell me how you rage Against the sunrise Demanding back the Comfort of darkness.

Tell me how you dream. Which neurons fire, which Remain static, which draw his face, micron by micron?

Tell me how you live. Is it truly as simple as One breath in, One breath out?

Yes.

We are but a sea of colors, Melting into the white funnel of existence Only visible for long enough to accentuate another.

Don’t be the one To romanticize The plight of those Who struggle through life With anxiety, Depression, Self-harm, Suicidal tendencies.

I promise you, You don’t want to be the one Who can’t breathe, Can’t escape, Can’t calm your heart rate, As a panic attack rips through And sobs wrack your frame.

I promise you, You don’t want to be the one Still laying in bed At three in the afternoon, Numbed through, Hardly sleeping, Just staring at the ceiling, Not caring, knowing that you should.

I promise you, You don’t want to be the one Staring at a razor, A bottle of pills, A coat hanger, Wondering if life is worth it, Waking up to your finder’s screams, Or succumbing to the blackness.

I promise you, You don’t want to be the one To get that call or text, “I need you now,” And talk them down From their breaking point, Carry their pain And that worry.

So don’t be the one To dramaticize, Or multiply the pain, Don’t complicate the situation, Or force them to explain, But if you’re the soul who Needs the shoulder and a hug, Don’t hesitate to reach for me, Because I swear I’ll be the one.

What I once thought was love, it comes From much farther below Not simply from the sky, but on This earth I wander so

Tis not that I, like some I see, Cannot convey consent But love can come from human hands: This world is bible-bent

Our fathers and our mothers know That all the things we say Are not our fault but reflections Upbringings of dismay

But even they! cannot be blamed: To raise us in this fire Takes much more skill than men possess And of it quickly tire

And so we pass away before We realize our worth We pass into whatever life Is six feet under dirt

They have not proved it does exist Nor can a man deny That surely something sparkling waits After that final sigh

So live and love lest they decide To change your mind again You’ll tell him they said “heaven’s near!” And God will answer “when?”

If you’re going to try to make it, Don’t worry about talking about it. Don’t make a statue of yourself before you start, Or you’ll never move. Don’t tell everyone about it, Or you won’t have any time to act. Don’t think about the history you’ll make, Or you’ll realize that you’ll be insignificant, Win or lose. Because we, each of us, Has a base value of 1 And we will have a base value of 0 when we die.

No man is above another, No woman is below another, No person may claim authority over another.

What you accomplish, if you accomplish in hopes of gracing the history books, or in the hopes that your value will be heightened, or in hopes that you will gain love and respect, will amount to nothing. The history books won’t come out until you die, Your value as a human does not waver until you die (and then your soul inherits it in its entirety) Love only lasts when it is given for a person, Not an action.

Act to improve yourself, Act to discipline yourself, Act to love yourself.

Act to improve others, Act to discipline others, Act to love others.

We prefer a world of failings attempted by those we love Over a world of feats achieved by assholes, But we do not know this because we think to win is to live.

I do not want to run the race and win. I want to run the race, Give all that I have, And then curl up with you.

That is the life I desire, The life I love, And the life I choose.

She had black eyes and scarce drew near The only girl I’d ever seen A nervous hunter lamping deer She was just scared, she wasn’t mean

His therapist said to forget He said he’d already forgot He grimaced but would watch and sit While she untangled all the knots

Sara, why did you leave his side? Six minutes, two years of his life You are the moon and he the tide He did not want a trophy wife

Alas, love comes, and sometimes goes So we must hope, for no one knows...

There’s an old man here, His name is Gunnar, Moves around in a wheelchair And has dementia. He offers me a cheerful smile, As he waits by the door Talking about his daughter.

I’m an old man now, My name is Gunnar, They tell me I have kids, 4 sons and 3 daughters, Only one I remember, I just know she’s a banker. If she visited yesterday, Or the day before I can’t say, But I’ll wait by the door For her pretty face today, And pray this memory of her Won’t also slip away.

April 2nd, I got a call about my father, His name is Gunnar. 97 years old, He lived in a nursing home. I visited him 3 times a week, I would have visited him more, But I couldn’t, Work was demanding, And I’m a banker. I’m glad for what time I had spent, Because now I have these last memories, Of my first hero and my father.

Love, the sole worthwhile beloved Of the pen of a man confused Reliable hand unusually gloved By multiple hearts, all fused

Love in excess is not a deed A man may be charged for Yet prays my mind, at once be freed! Much rather be a bore

Than undergo an onslaught of Emotions which I trust Then I am told, you must now love! For this is love, not lust

I remain a pointed blade, I am the surgeon’s hand Surgeons inflict much pain, yet are revered across the land.

It seems that to live Is to be Vulnerable And to die Is to be Snug. So I must be slightly Masochistic, Or at least enjoy A good fight Because my bed is never Comfortable So long as I can feel My breath in my lungs And I can never be content When lying still Knowing that for Decades, Centuries, That is how I will remain. So I embrace the blizzards. There will be an eternity of comfort. Later.

There is no mourning Like Christmas mourning.

The sun will rise, they say And after light’s first ray Then it will be the day I’ll be glad to have stayed

But for now, I will think of her.

But for now, I will feel her hair on my cheek.

But for now, I will pray to have been in the car that day.

Instead of her, Because if she were here, She would be making cookies And laughing when she saw me stumble in Frozen from shoveling the sidewalk In preparation for the family.

I still show her off But less subtly now. I Boast of her beauty and warmth, Her charm and her joy, Words which barely Begin to explain her. A photograph of her In an evergreen dress Holding a red book To match the season Is sitting on my nightstand, And my coffee table, And my kitchen table, And my mantle, And my dashboard, And my desk.

I wish I could forget her And her dark eyes, and warm glances, Because she always warned me, She said I had her on a pedestal, She said she was nothing special, She said she could never be my axis.

She was right, I held her up As if all of Maine was watching, Because this woman was the only Person, ever, To smile with me, Not because of me.

She was my axis because She didn’t want to be. She was incredible because She was genuine. She was joyful because She was alive, And life itself was all the proof she needed That there was hope.

And last month She slid across the yellow line Because I said we were out of milk.

There is no mourning Like Christmas mourning.

Anger never lasts. She’ll burn herself out eventually. I have dishes to wash.

With each new day I think of her A flaming ball of sin That lit my way through darkened paths And ‘midst the echoing

All’s good or bad, it’s either or, But both cannot exist So I’ve been asked to judge my guide Who in my mind, persists

She wants what’s best, but often shows It through an iron hand I didn’t mind, I needed truth And she’d taken a stand

A stand against my wasted time Conforming to that town Now I live North, with longer hair And town is upside down

So, they’re mad. But, I’m happy. At least someone wins.