SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

We set our eyes on the vast expanse, advancing our hope in the golden dance. We sit in awe from our still and quiet stance, mustering up enough courage and love to give this day a fresh chance.

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What do you say when a pet passes?

The loss may feel so overwhelming,

you wish to curl up in a ball in a cave,

and fall asleep, never to wake.

It may cut so close to your core

that you can’t take a moment,

you can’t even begin to lament yet,

or make anyone else understand

how you’ll never forget each

moment spent in adoration

of eachother’s being.

Now they’re just out of reach.

Just around the next corner.

The doorbell rings.

Silence.

That never

would have

happened before.

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We wrote each other’s blames on the night sky, rode bumper boats and played carnival games, until you had a prize. We laughed on the Ferris about the ugly beauty of the sunset, and funneled our emotions into a cake of the same name. With the fun house mirrors set and the llama freshly pet, it’s anything but lame or tame. This is an experience which cannot be completely duplicated. There are too many variables in stay. Let us look to the stars, sing all of our bars, and remember how to play.

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As timeless as the game itself.

We tie our core in knots with exposure

to a once hidden truth. We take the

fewest strokes possible to put it in the hole.

There is no place where everybody knows

your name, unless you’re home, with

your mate who stole the show.

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“Creativity is a wonderful way to help break the mind’s habit of suffering, because they are opposite pursuits…” From this morning’s reading in ‘The Wisdom of the Shamans’ by Don Jose Ruiz

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I hang my hat on you, and trust in what you are. There is nothing poetry can’t carry me through, for we’ve already come so far.

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TY ends a lot of things
like the specialty you long for
and the sense of finality it brings.
It’s the loyalty you wish to give and get,
the royalty you wish you could be.
The faulty frailty which lives and lets
you see with what the acuity always should be. TY may end a texting chain by giving thanks from sender to sent, TY might be someone’s name, either initials or a contraction of the first. It begins the sound when you’ve run off being wired, now simply just tired and spent, having given up on living the game, and focusing on the worst. TY can be a question about an ancient bev we still drink which gives us leverage to think of any number of abstract points. To you. Tenth year. When what anoints you is clear. Anything can be a writing prompt when we release without fear.

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We have appointments we keep, and ones that we let creep past
us while we sleep. Those appointments are then given to others who are ready and dilligently waiting, anticipating being bleeping great.

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I was coming up from the basement in Denver, trying to visit the DMV that day. The television was on, as it often was, and Meg was standing with her back to the top of the stairs. There was a hesitant stillness in the air. “Some idiot just flew a plane into the World Trade center!” I stepped forward, stood beside her, and then was beside myself, as we both watched live, while the second plane hit.
There we were. Nothing to say. Disbelief. Etched in permanent memory. Broken. Flames. People. Falling. Death. Can’t catch my breath quite yet as I think of it again. I do not need to be told to always remember. I cannot forget that morning and the days to come. My 1973 Chevy Blazer ‘Annabel’ got registered that very day, shortly before all government buildings were closed. I wanted to drive through LODO with my inherited flag waving from the rollbar. I wanted to beat my fists in the air. I wanted to enlist. I wanted to understand. I was not yet a praying man, but I believe I came up with some sort of version that day. I realized that I would not understand. I realized that there were many far younger than I was, being raised in worse conditions. There were so many who lost so much more than I did that day. So much unbearable loss around the globe being perpetuated. All these years later, I still remember as vividly, but choose to love more deeply than before.

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I see a certain image of you,
and it’s the one you want me to see,
But only an image will not do,
and by me, not me, but everybody.
For we didn’t invent the lang,
we just learn to arrange it like so,
formal, familial, and street slang,
all dressed up with nowhere to go.

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