Self, Betrayed


I walked right by

a man in pain;

suffering from the heat of the day.


He was perched on a sidewalk

on the far side of the grocery store

halfway shaded, halfway sunned.


It was easily ninety-nine degrees that day;

the type of heat dead chickens

must feel once tucked inside

the oven; the kind of heat

that drives grown men to rage.


He didn’t see me pass by,

bags chocked full of

foods and drinks; he

was rather crying, curled

up against the wall, eyes

and arms reaching out

to no one; muttering,

sobbing quietly under his breath.


It was the kind of scene

that speaks of its essence in an instant;


and the moment I laid

my eyes on him, my

spirit collapsed inside me…


… and I walked by …

“No Need To Run”

It’s in the quiet moments when we find out how happy and content we really are. We find out things like –

  • Can we see the beauty in our surroundings?
  • Does the air feel good and full as we breathe it into our lungs?
  • Does our essence -our life force- feel comfy and cozy where we are?

Total quiet and stillness is a place where every moment swells large, then curls in upon itself as it passes. Moments when we realize exactly who we are …and exactly who we’re not.

I think these moments are so hard to “have” and so hard to face because they hold information that may, or may not match up with how we think ourselves to be. It’s so easy to build up an ideal of another when we want to like them -especially when we want to love them; how can this not be so when it comes to “wanting” to love ourselves?

I remember when I was in my twenties. Back then everyone my age was so proud and coveted about their “little black books” (as opposed to the little Smartphones the young folk use today). The more names and addresses and phone numbers in it, the more accepted and desirable you could consider yourself to be.

I remember periodically (more like weekly) flipping through the pages of my little black book, making sure I had a comfortable number of people to call or visit at will. To know that I would never have to sit in my apartment alone if I didn’t want to. And I never wanted to.

I remember feeling a fine mist of panic sitting in the pit of my gut as I flipped through it’s pages. I never wanted that book to be empty. If it would ever be empty, I would just die. That’s what the mist -the panic- said to me. And so keeping my little black book full became a “subliminal” priority task within my daily life.

And it wasn’t even about the number of lovers versus friends per page, for both were really interchangeable and it didn’t matter as long as they were there. They were all -in one way or another- my circle of influence, or so I thought. In actuality, they were really my “circle” of escape.

Interestingly enough, as the years pass, some how or another the quiet moments begin to grow in number. It’s as if they lurk and stalk and seek out ways to find you. And when they do, it’s no small affair. Like …

… when your mother dies

… when your lover betrays you

… when you lose your job

… when you lose your dignity

… when the last puff of innocense vacates your soul

In these moments, there’s no one there but you …and you. And you can’t help but notice, but see who you really are versus who you thought yourself to be. Ah yes -there is a method to this madness …good reasons to run, to escape …all of them.

God help the little human who becomes bored with his little black book (or Smartphone). And God bless the soul who never had one, for he is a contented soul.

He is the one -the “chosen” one- who walks through a moment, a quiet moment, with his eyes wide open and watches it swell and surround his soul. And feels his soul lie back in the arms of that moment. And he breathes his presence in deep full breaths that soften his lungs and tickle his spirit. And as the exhale starts to form -to push its way out- so the moment starts to curl in upon itself, and it goes with him to meet the next one.

He is alone. He is content. He is free ….

He is his circle of influence and he knows who he is and he is who he thinks himself to be. And so …there is no where to run.

There’s no need to run.


Last night I had a dream,
yet another reality
that my mind chose to visit on its own…

In this reality, my mother and father
were seated in a room…
a blank room with no color
and barely a spread of light
and so they appeared as dark
lifeless figures in my dream…

I appeared in an instant, seemingly
out of nowhere, in front of them,
standing. I turned to my
mother and looked her square
in the eye and said one word:

At that moment, her eyes glazed
over -dark, hard and hurt-
and though the features of
her face never changed
the features of mine changed
to match the eyes that she looked out through.

I turned and left that dark
lifeless room …and I woke up.
And so I was left with myself
and that one word ringing
in my head –

“As I Write …”


As I write


…my mother sips coffee

on a porch

overlooking heaven’s gardens…


….while my lips mouth words without my intent…


…my father spins yarns of candle smoke

into brilliant diamond terrains…


…and word-worlds move inside my spirit like aches…

…this flesh, first loosens …then evaporates…

….while swirls of wind build quiet, inside my chest….




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Time’s Ticks

Each tick of the clock

Counts off a second of Time

While the silence inbetween each second

holds its own eternity.


I will not be swayed by the

Baseness of Time, leaving

Lines across my face and

building creeks inside my bones.


…when memories, daydreams and

concentrated wills can create

and construct a future of

my choosing … before Time’s ticks

can even think about what will happen to me.

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“Switched at Birth”

To give birth to a child

that would never know you

never understand you

-either one of you-

because her world ….

was a place of

“…truth …justice …and ideals…”

She couldn’t hear a thing you said

she couldn’t see

“you all” were the problem and always have been

this is the coldest form of disrespect I know.

And it’s in my very bones.

And I’m now certain

that this is why

my life is cursed…..

God gave “you all” the wrong child.

“Heaven’s Dollar”

To have, and to buy

and to hold whatever

my hand may find,

cloaks the peace

and well-being of my

stay in this world ….

… so they say …

Yet to wonder of

the thinness of this

cloak -this “paper power”-

leaves my spirit hollow.

But to fathom such a

world whose cloak

is weaved of

settled spirits borne

of heart once held,

is a true and rich

refinement of this

tattered paper well.