lists

lists of various lengths
of ranging import and export
of meaning
to me and no one else

I compose them in my head
while I break bread
in my notebook
when I dream

I cannot escape it seems
the need, or illusion of need
to repeat and repeat
what it is I do
who it is I am
even when the moment opens
into fields rich with swaying grasses
I take refuge
in the safety
on the inside
of a tin ritual
machine of my mind

lifetimes whir past

tale of three temples

wondering why
is enough;
the answer
is in the asking

when cold comfort
is your only comfort
you will find refuge
in it

I looked around
for many years
and found myself
looking

these three temples
are my points
of reference

my pilgrimage
begins and ends
with laying myself
on their altars
watching myself
second-guessing
my sacrifice
from the comfort
of the rear pew

over frigid seas

pale arches
over frigid seas

melting Arctic
fluttering belly of water
pukes out
a castle made
of discarded waste

from centuries human
and ephemeral

erected of a moment,
this house of horrors
vies to outlast the Earth

the smallest thing

the smallest thing
(though there is always smaller)
the largest predicament
layered upon layers
of difficulty

you lift one layer
at a time
cleanse it
in warm water and honey
cardamom and herbs
massage it
work out the details

love that
which loathes you

and the smallest thing
(there is always smaller)
will one day change you
under falling locks of moonlight
and fragile folds of darkness

the problem with solipsism

the problem with solipsism is,
of course,
the loneliness...
and that resentment
is self-hatred
and that when you say
you don't feel sorry for me,
I hate myself
even more

redemption redux

I was compassionate
once
I told stories,
saved lives
then the stories spread
and I saved a world

but what have I done lately?

I sit on my straight chair
I offer no light
to the world or to the room
I destroyed just one moment,
pissed it away in forgetfulness,
struck at everything in malice

the world I had saved
collapsed in torn ligaments,
its Atlas, trembling, impotent
in space

now the one I gave life to
fancies that she can
return me to grace

good luck, my love
my sweet daughter

I gave up long ago
I hope
you succeed

here we are

I just wanted
to get here
how long does that take?
duh --
like, right away

but it's so long
'til right away,
my patience nil
I used to kill
impediments lesser than this
or have someone
kill them for me

but here we are,
and all of my sins
mouths agape at your grace
with a sweep of your hand
I am no longer a murderer
but -- here --
with everybody else

sugar sugar

the worst song
I can remember
from childhood,
on chimpy mornings
watching cartoons
with militant bully
sister
comes on
in the cafe
in the middle of my profound
breakdown
breakthrough
I laugh
because when it sucks
it really stinks
and I will never have to
live through this particular
prism angle of hell
again

excerpt from Learning Trust (autobiography)

I returned to Ann Arbor with my Dad shortly after school started. My friends were happy to see me, but I quickly distanced myself from them. Even when they helped my Dad and I move all of my stuff into Ed’s and my apartment, I wouldn’t accept their invitation to have dinner at the house next door where seven of them would be staying for the year. This autumn, just as in the hospital, I would keep to myself.
I hid out in our bedroom a lot, studying or meditating, especially when Ed had company over. When he played his stereo in the living room, I listened furtively from my place at the bedroom desk, secretly gleeful to be hearing new music from bands like REM and Talking Heads. This was a treat I wouldn’t allow myself to openly partake of. My emotions around music were just too strong.
Still monitoring my feelings and thoughts, attempting to quash anger, greed, passion and pride, I was seeing a therapist who was working to teach me to let go of this stranglehold on my inner life.
Colin was a wonderful presence, and I developed a strong bond with him. I didn’t understand this at the time, but he was “re-parenting” me, validating and re-educating those parts of me that had been abandoned, neglected or squelched in my childhood. His exhortations to “let it flow”, to jump into the stream of my life and inhabit it with a light heart were wearing down my rigidity and resistance. I was beginning to let down my guard and allow the thoughts and feelings that naturally arose to be as they were.
His gentle, playful yet firm way was like a salve to my aching soul. I felt great after I left his office, and the “buzz” would last throughout the week.
Still, I was having a hard time with the depression. Despite my progress, it was going in slow motion so that I had to watch myself thaw out, witnessing the initial feelings of longing to change that had to precede an actual change.
I remember that Thanksgiving, I bought a vegetarian sandwich in a pita from the corner store. I ate it while I sat on the carpet in our bedroom. Ed and my other friends ate a full Thanksgiving dinner out in our living room. I wrestled with the desire to take my sandwich out of the room and eat with them. But I stayed. I felt alone, depressed and frustrated while solace and friendship were just a room away.