#credendi

You put pieces of yourself into everything. you take on the bruises the cuts the words that break bones and heal them. you reach into the depths of souls (my soul) and pull out the things that need to be said. you write poetry in a world of sound-bites and meaningless formalities. you laugh at the ridiculousness of the world’s seriousness. I’ve never been drunk but your presence is quantum wine. Most people are no-alcohol lager.

You put pieces of yourself into everything. you take on the bruises the cuts the words that break bones and sometimes people won’t let you help. so the wounds stay or else you rid yourself of them and maybe feel cold, cruel have more words thrown at you “uncaring” for your trouble. those pieces of yourself can hurt you. they’re sharp-edged ghosts that wouldn’t hurt if you were a ghost, too. but you’re not. you’re real.

I’ve never quite made sense but maybe you’ll understand anyway--

People say not to take things personally. But how can the world be dealt with otherwise? You connect to the person not the idea or mask or ideal. That’s your strength. That’s your weakness.

Trees go ever by and by Under not-quite-cloudless sky And catch my self wond'ring why Words have kept their place.

Storm-spun clouds fleeting trace Contours of an elfin face Then swirl slowly into space Filled with the taste of dreams.

Here, straining 'gainst reality's seams We trade hell's works for heaven's schemes Soundless words and joyous screams From once-bound lips are torn.

You and I, two children born To strangest sights and stranger shores Weave tangle-twisted knots of lore -- The fault is in our stars.

From searing suns the remnant shards Show us where our lost words are Teach us to speak with no regard For caramel-coated dawn.

On the corner of Sleep and Bedside Street my coffee cup rests, empty. Drop a pencil down the crack next to the wall and follow the road the cup’s handle points to until you reach the sea. A ferry awaits you. If you hurry on your journey you may catch the first.

But hasty travelers’ legs are nothing but wrinkled rags -- blankets with all the sleep wrung out of them. No need! the first ferry will take hours to reach the Sandman’s shores. Tarry a while, my dear! Linger a bit longer-- the longer you linger the shorter the distance to shore.

Stop and chat a while, dear my heart! You may find at the end of your road a bridge that can be crossed by tripping lightly o’er the trills of laughter. Or, beloved, stay just a moment more-- then cross with happy splashes, and the help of a few flat stones.

Even better, sit with me, sweet king until the bravest little sunbeam peeks shyly into our eyes then look and see: once a mighty river once a shining sea now a simple stream crossed with a single step.