When you flee
from ghosts
you will have a long run
they are behind you
and ahead
Destination
My train does not have a station
or wooden bench of inspiration
I look for tiny traces
in the fading frozen faces
painted with my eyes
while I was wearing a disguise
The dilemma of the non-gardener
If chairs grew into tables
we’d have to stop feeding them
we don’t have any room for more tables
if you don’t feed the chairs
will they just die
we don’t want dead chairs
all over the place
where would we sit
they look so hungry
what a dilemma
Objective: smile? Shake your head? Laugh?
Add an L
When you add an L
to words
you create worlds
the L is love
Shopping for minutes / lost and found
Shopping for minutes
I couldn’t buy an hour
looking for hours
I couldn’t find a day
wondering where the days went
I think I lost a year
so many years so many years
drifting in a cloud of time
in the lost and found
not lost not found
The creek and the duck pond
We didn’t speak very much
but with the winter rains
water moved in the creek
in summer the dead log rises
in the duck pond
and the water lilies bloom
now the development has come
and the creek has gone
buried underground
a giant culvert shows stagnant water
under the edge of the gravel road
and no one’s talking
Sing the silence
I do not put eye drops
in the ocean
I cannot measure the depth
of my desire
there is a flow and a direction
I cannot wrap my arms around
waterfalls of sunlight
but I hear that music
even in the bed of night
and try to teach myself
to sing the silence
The poet who swallowed the world
There is no warning given
when you are swallowed
by the world
everything has a kind of golden hue
after
I also wasn’t warned
that I might swallow other worlds
I think I swallowed the world of want
I didn’t expect that I would want
everything
or that I could have it
now I feel it all there inside me
what a mess
watch out
I could swallow you
you could be inside me
no warning given
watch out
ok I warned you
The world of what you do
Roaming around in the world
of what do you do
the line of left handed dancers
reaches all the way to venezuela
but they’re not going
there must be some explanation
for the piles of dreams left
walking out the door
while climbing up the hills
of who you are
the line of right thinking people
reaches all he way to nowhere
but we’re not going
we live there
on the floor with the broken dishes
cloudy dreams
and the words that spilled out
of the box of what you do
Habit
I am a creature of habit
many habits
I begin every day with breathing
I depend so much on words to speak
how can I see you without eyes
yet now when I need to see you
I must close my eyes
where are you
daninmaya 