To avoid the crush
of thinking
what is real
I practice looking
in every other direction
Racoons
There must be some alternative
to the kitchen chair in the street light
maybe the couch in the dark living room
or standing still at the window
looking for the silent racoons
on the tattered grass where they hunt
for their lives
with curious humour and flexible intent
The face of wisdom
Where my eyes go looking
my attention follows
I told them not to go there
and I pull them back
but where my attention goes
other eyes can sense
and they go and their attention goes
when I pull my attention back to me
other’s attention is pulled to me
we can see each other
what do we see
do we see who we are
I don’t think so
not with these eyes
they are constantly flitting here and there
drawn to whatever momentary attraction
touches the radar of out of control eyes
quickly let’s put together a face of illusion
to show people
we can fool them
we can even look wise can’t we
Avalanche
An avalanche is falling
in my head without a sound
there are no cars speeding
through the highway in my eyes
my stairway doesn’t have
a bottom or a top
time has never come
to the party of my silence
the alarm whispers softly
so no one will awake
Forgiven
Forgiven for loving
when anger was the owner of the sky
forgiven for living
when endings fell in frightened rain
forgiven for being
when pieces broke up pieces into pieces
forgiven for open
when closing pulled the tears from stone
forgiven for silence
when distance was the measurement of touch
The great fear
When the great fear comes
I turn my eyes away
and force it down
into the never empty box
but pushing down is a kind of rain
that gives nourishment to grow again
my great fear is not of dying
it is of living
The illusion of choices
Unforeseen consequence of breathing
failure to attempt to lift the planet
wobbling on its knees
opening eyes wider and wider
seeing less and less
the measuring equipment
seized with rust and ice
tossed into the rolling ocean of existence
crushed by the illusion of choices
seeking joy hands up
sliding down the ski slope of the heart
Empty
When I moved into empty
the place that sends me poems
lost my address
so I wrote this note
to let them know
there was someone still awake
in the void
daninmaya 