Into the Night, Folding Paper Planes

A visitor, peeking in.
Cautious not
to be a bother.

Soundless, aside
from very little clicks.
A pause, inhale and wag.

Little cups of time,
with tasks, bigger
than my heart.

Amidst the quick arriving
night, she exhales,
satisfied.

Hey little babe,
come again. She winks,
with her ears relaxed.

Since I was 10, much
has changed, but my visitor
stayed the while.

Free of questions,
filled with air, and warm,
so warm she is.

And the little sounds
that came at night,
were often apologetic.

She would’ve done it by
herself, and she tried,my babe
she tried.

So listen pup, yes
listen up,I love you
through and through

And for all the times, I felt
lost inside, thanks
for loving me too.

In darkness we felt
alive, us two, under blankets,
safe from rain.

And when my flaws made me
feel so tiny, you never
questioned my pain.

Often I’ve tried,
to write for you, but you
just looked so comfy there

And whether or not
I found the words,
you made me silent with your stare.

I’m not sure how you got here, love,
or where you’ll go
someday.

But when you’re ready, babe,
pick up and run,
and I will chase you, oh babe
I’ll chase away.

You do things for the first time
once.
Take your first steps,
say your first words,
share your first kiss,
finish the first day of work
at your first job,
drive your first car, windows open,
the music is relentless.
But, the more you find yourself
doing these things,
the less mysterious they become.
You figure out the patterns, and predict
what comes next.
And all that wonder, becomes
anticipation,
stirring.
And it just becomes a thing,
like everything else,
that once was
exciting.

Maybe we have not figured love out. Maybe our expression of passion tinted in red, covered in chocolate and celebrated once a year is a claim staking to something that simply is never ours. Maybe our Hallmark cards, our recycled rhymes on off white paper and our tired gestures to remind another person how we feel is just drilling us deeper and deeper into a solid state of lifeless existence.

What if the secret of loving another person was never telling them? Sure it sounds like advice from a mad man, but have we ever tried it? Most times we ponder and ponder and anticipate the reaction when we finally drop the “L” bomb, that the actual moment falls short. That person becomes comfortable with us, and knows our limits.

Think about perception. Where does perception go to die? Well, first, what really is perception? When starting a new job we have the power to influence the perception of all of those who we work with. If we play on a team, our first few practices, or the first big moment in the season can define or even redefine someone’s perception of you. But, is it not true, that over time someone “figures you out?” Is it too crazy to believe that maybe your existence when around another person, fails to have variance and they just assume you will act a certain way. Think about the first time you met someone. You asked them questions. You watched the way they moved their hands, shuffled their feet and everything about them that made them unique. If that person came in contact with you enough times over the period of a few years, the questions and analyzing cease. You have a general idea about them and they a general idea about you. They don’t watch the walk or wonder where you are going when you leave.

Let me bring this back to center. Maybe the secret of love is not a secret at all. When you are alone or accompanied by few, in a vast landscape at the edge of a cliff and all that is before you is the sun, positioned low in the sky. As that sun falls slowly it drapes shadows on the trees and animals around you. In this moment, you love everything that is happening. So why don’t you say, I love you, sun. Because that is ridiculous. Because the sun doesn’t belong to you. Because you know that it will rise again in another part of the world touching new structures with it’s light and ability to create shadow. The sun will carry on. And the beauty that it holds is something that we love.

I may tend to lean towards the darker places in life, but this is positive. Love is not dead. Love is simply smothering is a society where we believe it belongs to us. When you love someone, when you truly want what is best for them, don’t ever feel as though you possess them. They are a functioning human being with a heart and emotions and dreams. Prior to meeting you they were perfectly fine, and they will be perfectly fine without you. Love them for everything that you find beautiful in them, but don’t ever trap them.

There is a boat
sailing away from you.
And the cross currents will brush
the sides, and the fish will
scurry around it’s hull.

But it will continue
in that same direction.

You can watch the boat
sail away from you.
You can analyze the movement
of it’s sail or try
to breathe in rhythm
with the way it gets tossed
by the swells.

You can stand on the rocks
and swallow the bitter wind
whipping about with salt,
and you can move
to other rocks
and watch it sail
away.

You can skip a stone,
along the top,
and try to reach the boat.
Try to make a sound that
may startle.

You can build a raft
of what surrounds you,
and give what is left
to row out.

Or you can wait.
You can sleep there,
beneath the star’s siren
glow. And eat your meals
from cans. And warm your hands
by a dying flame.

You can extend your arms,
and judge the direction
of the wind, predicting
when it will blow
your way again.

But the anchor will fall,
the sail will collapse
and rest will come easy
to all of those aboard.

Wave.
And wish it well.

You can wait,
with your pants rolled
at the ankle, and your baskets
full of fish.

But that boat
is sailing
away.

It’s easy. It’s easy,
to feel like you’re drowning,
when all that surrounds you
is so vast,
and unaccounted for.

From where I stand, it seems. It seems,
so many people are swimming
in circles.

Or going so hard in one direction,
looking for shore,
somewhere to unsheathe their burdons
upon,
a place to lay their head, stake their claim.

But, in the spaces where we reside;
where our stories go to thrive,
there are only those awake,
when
all the rest are trying to dream, that get to see it.

And in these spaces, those
who see the success, the fulfillment,
are those who tread the water only for a moment.
Who watch as those bodies paddle away,
chasing the falling star.
Those bodies hunting the edge of a mini
whirlpool. And those who choose
to instead
swim
down.

It’s underneath the darkness,
and all of those scary moments,
where we feel
as if
we may be
losing
our
breath
that we create something truly beautiful.

If I can maintain this passion,
I will write
until may hands fail me
and then I will write with sounds,
with percussive
and rhythmic sounds,
with truth
even when it’s so ugly
I will be passed by like an unwelcome
storm. And I will push out from everything within,
everything that makes me
feel
and ache
and desire
and I will leave kicking and screaming
with notes discordant to what seems real,
but that define life,
oh so vigorous
and beautiful.
If I don’t chase this,
this blessed oblivion than I might as well stay inside
for good
and wait for that one good dream to make my rest eternal.

Everyone stays up later than me,
spends their weekends while I sleep
and each says the same, “let’s grab a bite
to eat.”

Late night is mid day, my bedside
table, an inch away and the radio plays
a mix of smooth, or soft, to go
with the pending rain.

The open road, is only so provoking
when the highway leads to a
rabbit hole, or some free verse
spoken word

I set an alarm, for when to go to bed.
Remind myself it’s only pictures
in my head, and dream tomorrow will be a morning
where the moon is my best friend.

I am not turned on by the obscure
It doesn’t excite me,
when you say “it’s between us.”

I could care less, how you would
prefer me to act. I don’t want you
to be aggressive. I’m not into that.

I don’t bother with closed doors,
whispers, or facades. Your childish
fear of getting caught is, well childish.

You can take you cues from Hollywood,
you can dim the lights, you can let the
moonlight swallow us.

Through slatted blinds, you can
look for headlights, you can jump
at every sound, that sounds like this.

I’m not turned on by the lies you want
me to conspire in. My body is numb to
that neglige, and that one little candle.

You can’t interest me, no matter what
rules you think you have broken. You are as
exciting as popular music.

I abide by laws not written in places you can
pay to read. I hold out for that flash in the pan,
that streak of chance ablaze in shallow night.

I ache for passion, and uninhibited love. I
choose to hold, to have close your body.
I am governed by the outskirts of fear.

The allure of losing my breath, under the weight
of the ice in your eyes, is freedom. I take you,
because I want you to be free.

This is the clean burning fervor, awake in the
thief of the night. Steal away the forgotten misfortunes
of the chained, and the shackled majority.

This is the cramping, fatigued muscle in the legs of
the boy being chased. I am the dog right behind him,
with no intention of biting, just showing him how to escape.

These are the toes of the dancer, on point in first position.
The music swells and sweetly she moves; the lights,
the dust, her breath.

Cheat in the games of deception, when the fools
are begging for pleasure. We hold out for naked, and
aggressive compassion, and hoard it under the bed.

If I succumb to the tremble in your hips,
or give way to the stutter of my voice, forgive me.
You have shattered me completely.

Just some fun, thought provoking rhyming to get the day going.

Cinched neatly at the waist,
suspended in outer space,
watching the clouds chase
each other.

Murals scrawled on
brick walls, they call
out to me. I’m crawling
on my knees.

Turned back towards
the apple orchards, on
my fathers shoulders, tortured
by the noise.

The walls I wept upon
Slouched my mood and
slept upon, worked
tirelessly to tear down,
are built higher than ever
again.