Wednesday, August 25

Burnside. Still Dancing

remember that time we skated towards the sun
after that seemingly endless night of tin cans and boiling silicone
we greeted the day with bloodied fingers from lifting manholes to climb yet even deeper down
all the way until we were under that graffiti sprayed bridge
jumping off the ramps with the confidence of a child

remember the bandaged faces yelling across the crowd
over the burning red white and blue's
run faster
run faster
faster baby
run faster
they caught up with you
leaving us asunder
we found one another just in time in the midst of that famous claim-to-fame kiss in front of the protesters and police
i still think there's something so radical about two womyn kissing in cuffs in front of an angry crowd and homophobic cops

remember that time we followed the river to the edge of itself
where we found ourselves standing in front of the multi-tiered submarine
that swaying pier held us there for a while
before plunging us into the exploding 4th of July waters of the Willamette
but still
so desperate were we for the moon to rise
so desperate to meet understanding face to face 
in those eyes
on that skin

remember that time we laid in your closet for days
like children hiding from the world
tucked away between twisted blankets and pillows
ordering take out for days on end
emerging into the light very selectively
mostly just to pee
something about the darkness kept us there
we were living vicariously through our dreams

what about the time we sat outside that wobbling tree-painted trailer
sitting on your plastic paint splattered buckets we used to collect water when the rains came
lighting our cigarettes from the charcoals in the Smoky Joe 
american spirits
lavender and sage hovering about
SE 42nd and Madison
hazy days
summer time breeze
yellowing walls
merging into fall
leading to fleece covered doors
and leaking sheds
reflecting brick and winter's gray
the lovers embrace
the lovers goodbyes

remember when mornings came too soon

rain rain
its raining
baby its raining
get the buckets and the ladder, lets head on out and splash in the timelessness of this moment

what about that time we laid under mosquito netting with the cockroaches and rats in that gutted abandoned building in the lower ninth ward
we were crossing the street between gun shots and marshal law
young white military men
and that gorgeous parrot, in the tree, untouched
mocking all the destruction in the face of Katina

or the time we found ourselves 2600 miles deep into the pacific, prism overhead, calling upon our collective need to transform light
meandering about lonely dirt roads and backs of pickup trucks
Scorpio was in the sky
it was there we could be found jumping on the trampoline to get closer 

remember standing outside my bedroom window throwing stones
come out come out wherever you are
come out
come out before the dawn
come play with me
lets skate again towards the sunrise and dance precariously in the shadows we leave in our wake

Preferential Mind

waterfalls carry away pain and sorrow
they also cleanse and purge
bringing with the falling waters
a deep sense of connection to flow
to letting go
once again to life's gifts
and all there is

mountains speak in languages not verbal
transcending alphabets and cultures
they stream down
full of myriad beings
teaching us all how to bend with the wind

full moons bring a deep urge of letting go
of releasing
of trusting in the light of the dark
seeing the shadows more clearly
turning your back
saying goodbye
and walking away from the smoldering embers

well mostly they take me to my knees
how can one possibly compete with something that can bring anything to ash
reminds me of drawn dragon hearts
being carried away by the wind
to start all over
once again

i prefer flame
and truth
complete transparency
fierce love
and me
i prefer me just the way i am

Monday, August 23

Of Time, Flowing. That and Love...

its like those crickets outside this screen door
when they come together in harmony
a perfect flow
they are as one
for a brief moment
and in that space
they find unison
non separation
no duality of any sorts
just a deep deep connection


the next breath
and on the exhale
a shifting of resonance occurs
sending all back into the mobile stream of impermanence

Saturday, August 21

Fuck You Mr. Waking Mountain

I thought a lot about you while facing that adobe wall
flooded with images
playing over and over again
fooled again
by this:


i miss you. don't know why. your a fucking pathetic walking mountain. a tender, angry, absorbing, withdrawn, romantic, shut down, deeply reflective, dark, creative, sinewy, untouchable, distantly close, magnetic walking mountain.

boy, oh boy, am i projecting again...

i want to feel your earth mix with mine
moist and dewy
like pacific northwest ferns
opening to the coastal winds
full of all the promise of where we left off
i want to mix with you in my core
see you wrapped up in colors of organic plum
behind my hair
feel you in my ears
nails under skin
hear the multitudes of stories in all these layers 
meeting somewhere deeply with mine

but still
i say fuck you.

fuck you mr. walking mountain
fuck you and your untouchable face.

Thursday, August 19

Flooding Pictures

Superimposed on a sheet of photographic paper
a spare moment of internal dialog fills the blank space
once void of course
now forgotten
left to the stars to manage a more complete ending

like puckering pursed lips
patiently for solitude to kick in

looking down at supple sepia nipples
she feels a chill take over
a soft touch
from a gentle breeze
and willowy
she sways
like a goddess
like the cottonwood
full of curves and light
as the shadows dance on her hips
her trunk
like the path of water
to the stream
finding its way
over the rocks
and through the green
back to the source
and this
as the stars align
to some higher cosmic order of chaos
seemingly merging with some sort of higher purpose

she stands up
and away she walks
trusting in this
the process called life

Moving Time

There is light all around. Its found in places untamed. There's even a piece of it in the concrete creations of F stops, Neptune Avenue's, traffic lights.
Total dissolution. Situations where your lost completely, searching for a deeper, more pervasive meaning - an understanding of ocean waves pounding rock to stone, stone to sand.

So what's this then? Of darkness enshrouding an impenetrable reality - one of stars falling and beams flying into untold places of walnut flooring, once a walnut tree breathing in themselves the timeless depths of perception.

Flying again, she breaths in the misty vapors of the Atlantic ocean, sunrise. Beaming blackbirds flying. There they greet the pastels taking over the muted ocean color of pre-dawn's artistry.

Its the essence of survival resting on top of this consciousness. Time, that is. Moving.

Thursday, August 12

How do you define liberation when a path seems to open from beginning-less beginnings?

Queen of Hearts

Something tells me that that the last card is going to be an Ace...

Wednesday, August 11

Its Love That Makes The Universe

Whats the difference between sense and sensibility in a realm beyond sense? Beyond thinking, or knowing. Just complete surrender to:


Its like trying to hold onto truth when your bathing in the scalding waters of delusion - one arm reaching up and out, up towards eternity, out towards landlessness, believing that somewhere beyond - Gate Gate Pāragate -  beyond the deep waters and moonless skies, truth still exists and fear has no ground to stand upon

There's only open
only Open
and more
more Open

Tuesday, August 10


Crafting a creation of some other vision
one in which the truth of dying dolphins, drowning in oil, covered in impermanence
leeks out

Saturday, August 7

Glued to the Dream

Sampling tastes of these spaces between fractal moments
she finds its got a slightly bitter bite
one we're not so accustomed to
we're just all so hooked on sweet and salty

when did moments like these ever make sense?

there she is
she's standing on that Eastward facing bench
looking out towards release
exhaling the vacuum of this earthly plane
West. Following the setting sun.
circling around
the wind calls to her
she's watching those mountains connect pastels with primary's
right before her very eyes

she feels an urgency
to wake up from this dream
to wake up from this
a set
an illusion of something perceived as real
but that sky
those mountains
even the post modern ponderosa pine
just standing there observing the world
they could all just start melting
and that
would seem as real as this  
a scratch
in the fabric
like yellowing
antiquated photo's
stored next to cactus and moss

she thinks to herself
if this was someones creation
it might as well be mine this time

this is the work of some far off galaxy of stars
descending upon us
gleefully painting us a scene
that seems to make no sense at all

perhaps this is just a dream
and here she's stuck
between the worlds
months ago she arrived on some unexplainable trek

time to unpack
more action
less words
explore this realm a bit
see what it has to offer
see where it takes her next

Thursday, August 5

From Here, Where?

Explosions on the outside
fingers this edge
ever so gently
the line that rests between here
wondering what's beating so hard against the wall
Santa Fe
Old growth grandmothers
standing tall
yet watching her kin fall
all of it
leading into this precise moment of impermeable translation

somewhere along the path of migration
an institution of separation arose
and hail fell like never before
the size of fists
thrown up in the air
busting at the veins
the size of lightning
crumbling alongside thunder

and then this
silence falling on pressure treated wood
on adobe
on you
on me
on Us
on Them
all of this
all of this
all of this is real

or not

for whats behind the veil now shows as vividly
as cloudless light on stones on a stifling summer's day

the exploding sky is at it again 
taking note during dreams
noticing where we become more part of the whole
where the lines blur from us to them
bottles in 12 year old hands
lies mingling with truth at the bar
on the stoop
in the temple too
there goes that 17 year old
cradling needles in her arm
seeking release from God's army
seeking release from mandatory military truculency
from pain
the path
it all fades off into the setting sun

where do you become more mixed into truth?
what colors do you see there?
what becomes after the glow? the high?
and how is that more real than this? than real itself?

no anima
no sense
just dripping
drops dripping desperately on concrete
checking us all into a collateral checkmate

it became seventeen
and seventeen became 2010

whose idea was this anyway??

losing my mind. Nah. 

back to reality
here's to alarm clocks
to holding down a job
hitting a bell
in the epicenter of this 21st century catastrophe
amongst the house raids and cluster bombs
false borders separating real people
the lower ninth ward's of Katrina
legal lynching
death row
rape crisis lines
speaking again
pretending to listen
concrete jungles taking over wild spaces
taking over childrens' minds and running
like heroine
back to the grind
back to the grind
back to the grand illusion of ground
and sound
we're sleeping now
we're sleeping

even alongside this roadside bomb
this leeching dumpster of capitalist disgrace
rotting and spent
full of ultimate collusion and delusion
is the our chance to wake up
from this dreamless dream
and see things as they really are

one last question...
what will we tell our seventh generation when they ask us
"what were you doing then?"

Wednesday, August 4

Snapping Strings of a Discordant Tune

while flying through the sky
gazing out the window as we chased the setting sun
i discovered there's much too much
still to be understood
got me thinking about the time i walked away from that rising heat between us
and haven't say a word more

outside that night the milky way came to a complete standstill
mocking those moments languishing between us
as we sat there contemplating the vastness 
so above
as below
yet sensing no falling fire there
just unspoken words
seemingly shrouded by fear
unable to articulate those feelings of vastness within

by fear
by fear
we're all so controlled by fear

even at momma Atlantic
i was reminded of such blissful times
of Mr. Gibran
walking mountains
bedtime stories
twisted blankets
rose quartz stones
and sleep

then came the waves crashing
waking me up
carving a real history into those stones of delusion
of reason
of you
sitting by my bedside
of me
watching you
watching me
with a smile
and a tear
under the glow of that soft yellow lamp

its time to let this go
i hear some rational voice say
let it go
move on
surrender to this
and this
and yes
that too
cause its all gone
back to where it is
all part of a rough history
and silent now

alongside some dumbfounding discordant tune
somewhere high in the San Juan's of Colorado
is a heart
perhaps two
superimposed over that violently broken guitar
in a fit of rage
deemed reasonable by some
but to me
its something i want no part of
been there
done that
won't do it again

and just for the record, there are other ways of "cutting off the conversation..."

so now
this inner feminist and Buddhist are battling
one says "fuck him, he's violent, he's crazy, he's completely unstable and even more undeserving of this love"
while the other is saying "so sad, he's so broken, so wounded, so hurt, he just needs love, unconditional love and radical acceptance..."

again, this just leave me to ponder reality
wondering, whats the middle way

i guess thats what i got to keep me company these days
that and my dreams
the ones he's still somehow part of
i'm still not even slightly sure how the main character turned into a man
a boy really
just a wounded broken boy
one that's truly looking for love
but too afraid to remain open

its kinda funny
i never thought it would end up this way
in this mystery of time
of corruption and deceit
of delusion
but now
i'm realizing it was mostly projections
that led me astray
of believing something someone was not
and me too
cause even i run when things get too hot

so why then
is it so hard to let go?
its a multitue of things
but i still hold onto that letter
you know
that one letter of love that sent me flying into places i've only ever dreamed
cause its every girls dream
manufactured as it is
to be sought after by a prince
but there was no prince
there is no seeker
just me
removing the veil 
seeking truth
and transparency

what am i doing?
i hear that voice say
sleep my dear dragon girl
and dream of love's truth
the kind that will set us all free
the kind that above all else
and is real
beyond fear
beyond fear
of redemption
beyond fear

turning that lamp around 
seeking it from deep within
cause that's where it rises from
so above
as below