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Together we do the earthy work of laying down our living dead. it’s difficult enough to release our embrace from the ones we must let go, those who’ve slipped away expected or by surprise, leaving just their memories with our cries. but to unearth those whose bodies are still warm, their spirits tightly locked inside us, is to mourn for those we could have loved, who could have loved us longer, better or more. those dead for us, while still alive. We cannot release them from these inner coffins we’ve put them in. Yes, there is blood in this work,…
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Life’s so pale these days, the minister of silence is singing me to sleep. There was a day when he wheeled us down the roads like a god. Why is he singing me to sleep now with words I cannot hear, quietly humming until I yawn and disappear. I am not the one who’s dead, and yet I lie there like a corpse on a sheet white bed, not resisting the low light tucking me in through drawn down blinds. He stands in the doorway ready to leave, he’s gone after asking me for answers for the questions in his…
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I used to be a burglar but I quit, quit breaking into houses I’d been invited to by men with promises like keys around their necks. Knocking on your door one night a computer came to answer, it said you were away and refused to let me in. The locks had been changed and my needs did not compute with the anxiety you’d keyed in. I could see you clearly inside although the lights were off and the shades were drawn. You were standing in the kitchen an unplugged phone in your hand trying to call for help. You can’t…
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My eyes are empty now. I’m looking for someone who will tell me the truths are lies. Truth leaves me alone and shivering outside the door, where I am eyed by the sad and frigid moon. (I am so eager to be deceived, I lie even to myself, ignoring the inner rhythms) I am daughter to the moon she rules me, disobedient, dark, watched by night. Here, lit by the moon, lies the man who sometimes speaks with me, he wanders the hip hills of my body his hands twin brooks meander me and here, by my side, he sleeps,…
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Everything started changing when they realized, reincarnation was not quite what they had believed. Instead, dying was more like pouring into one large universal pond everyone flowed back from again, regardless of how they had behaved. Not moved by how good or bad a self they had been, not influenced by how many good or bad deeds they’d done, the results seemed to spawn from how much better or worse the world as a whole had become. So now, once dead, new arrivals would rise again, oblivious, not a self anymore, a pristine anybody born anyplace, anyhow. That’s when everything …
Words from Inside My Head 