Gratitudes

I sat again and looked at my feet. The blood had stopped. I had farther to go. 

I slept and dreamed of nothing, but I had wanted to dream of outer space.

As a young girl I watched the stars and always felt I could go there and back. Now I now my feet are much more valuable than those shining lights.

I woke up and shook my heart like a bookcase, the gratitude falling out like many pages of a book, like the cleaning of a canary cage, debris flying everywhere, my gratitude, my gratitude. Falling and landing in space.

Is my gratitude merely platitudes?

It's an armor I started wearing to protect myself from the dark.

I keep seeing those damn lights, though. 

From the Sacred to the Simply Looked At

The sacred art:

the statues that were made by the basket weavers

the pots that were made by the statue-makers

the baskets that were made by the pot people

in the jungle on the plains

these statues came together

covered in semen and blood

they meant something

about the survival against the lions

Now they are in a tourist shop

built out of cardboard 

and I buy it and put it on the shelf

when on vacation.

The sacred writings:

Created in caves by candlelight

in dungeons dug by man

people died carrying the stones

to make this small coffin in the ground

where the monk writes

over and over again

These writings on animal hide

with ink from the eye of the octopus

and fine colors ground from 

the sea shells and the clay

painstakingly applied

with a small brush

made of animal hair

and attached with an animal glue

rabbit or egg

I lost track.

I see the images now

on a computer screen

as I glance for five seconds

before returning

to work and cat videos.

Life will go on

Life will go on

whether you write a poem or not.

It's Weird

I no longer 

want to be a poet

based on

writing a poem each day.

I, now stronger,

want to be a poet 

based on

how I see the world each day.

Profound Yet Effortless

What am I doing with my art?

Am I actually creating something beautiful or is it just garbage in garbage out?

Am I taking time to create utmost beauty; am I intimately involved with patience and skill?

Am I focused yet in the flow in order to make something which is actually profound yet effortless?

Can of Tobacco

Dear God how did I ever forget I've become a painter?

I must be unwell

call for the horses and the damned street signs

I am going to get a can of tobacco and make a run for it.

The Levis Strauss company has shuttered

the green girls are counting ice cubes

I am left on the dust-filled prairie

with the sheep and the hogs

docile and ferocious

unable to speak clearly

to the dreams that I had

full of fruit punch.

Dissidence in Black

The Ethiopian coffee is dripping then it starts to rush

when I move the filter and suddenly it cascades with noise

and I am waiting on it to unfill

so that I can calmly wipe the plate

and then enjoy a cup of strange dissidence.

Mass

When six days long a lifetime seems to pass, a bomb held like a kitten in a glass.

The second glance becomes a look that lasts, while fat cats count the vowels during mass.

Tiny Feet

The feline crept along the wall the ivy brushing up against her fur

she was seeking a small mouse which she saw run

in the shadow along the wall

The garbage trucks and puddles splashed

but it did not dim

her determination

in the street light

she could still sense

the rumbling of his tiny feet.

The Rats

I totally get that figure of speech

I get it like a fig being eaten by a monkey

and lost to the rats...

Next one is my call. 

Peachy Earth

The Earth has just split the apple in two

down to the molten core

as it turns out

the world is a peach.

Looking

I looked closely at the coral, each tiny hole and divot

imagined the diver that picked it up from the sea floor

then put it on the shelf

I looked closely at the book, each letter and curve of the b

imagined the writer that slaved over his desk

then put it on the shelf

I looked closely at the tiny box

full of jewels and designs on top

enough to make your eyeballs spin

opened it up and saw that it was empty

turned the tiny clasp to the left

and put it on the shelf

I am a curious soul

but as it turns out

I should stand in the wind and just look at nothing.

Another Bird

Your passionate attitude will need to be curbed

we've thrown it all away like sawdust

Your mindfulness retreat will need to be postponed

it turns out no one needs your advice

Your cunning methods to manipulate the mindset

have turned a good heart to stone

So long, so long

another bird takes flight

into the starry night.