about how everything is nothing

i carry the
first hat my
second child
ever wore
just
moments old
in that black leather

in a pocket
with the plastic
clip
from my first
child's
falling belly button

i thought

if someone stole that coat
and went into the place
those things close to my heart
my love my
comfort dragging
my stupid magic would
just be thrown on the ground
or in the trash some
where

just junk in
the beaten pocket
of some bad ass
jacket

and that's
what
it is

that's what
it all
is
our rocks
and spells
and holdings
blind magic

things       just
dust and clay
heaven's gate
and rot

angel no.

and i know
this
we know this
so why...

there is something        
psychological                        
because
we don't

something within ours
leads eyes to
covet

even the attachment
of the
unattached
bears cautionary
discression

for
cold and wet
bright light
and trolley

and
sometimes

we find the
need
in our young
stomach
to forget what
we know

about how
everything
is nothing

this beautiful
spun sugar structure

-i was just
thinking too much
as my daughter was
looking for a hat
for her doll

even the most precious
of all of this
is fundamentally
dust

it is the spark
the breath
the light on in
the eyes
which makes us
forget reason
forget the fact
that plastic garbage
is a father's magic

this is my opinion
and
there are billions more

eyes

i was drifting
the other day

laying on my couch
thinking about eyes

i always felt them
tiny windows
allowing soul to
reach through
from infinite
vastness to
sphere of existence

god
touches
world

my daughter
emeline
could not see farther
than me
or her mother
when first arriving
on this plane
when first breaking through
to the
firmament

right now not
yet two years here
and her eyes see
what forty years
and the lives of the
prophets
have taught me

that which was and always
is
that which schools
and affiliation begs
we forget
lest we go astray
and feed our own

reality
the collective result of our
being and our
having been
and
of the truth in love
and pain
that we all share

body and mind
grow older
stronger
id feeds ego
firmament
waxes to
lower world

soul along for the ride

i just turned 40
and my eyes see
less and less

i turn once again
to the couch
and me on it
wondering
thinking
that as we get older
and we draw nearer to
that final answer
as arms grow shorter
does the gaze
of angels
lessen
through that
window

maybe
just as
we get along
and tire of the
fires and
the floods
the famine and
the greed
the continual toil
of the experience
world
so does love

its just that
those eyes
they look so
other worldly
when set into this
mud
and when we cease

all else

fingers
lips
skin

lose all trace
evidence that life
was ever present
tissue shrivels
loses the glow from
bright blood pulsing
darkens slightly but
eyes
eyes look like a complete
and separate creature
altogether
they never seem to
die

now ours
eyes turn toward
architect
focus inside
back through
windows
seeking that growing
familiarity
smell of home
once the savages
here have
had their fill
after the bills
after the sunsets
after the fires are put out
when the body nears
the finish line
with no more
dirty corners to
brush against
mind shifts to
sound
as soul begins the
search for respite
eager and urgent
begging body to
draw the blinds

made up

wickedness
thrives in
cracks

not in 
hearts but
in the
vulnerability
of need

demons
feed
on
opportunities
presented

it does not hunt
it lays on the
bottom
of the ocean
and uses
bio luminescence

perception for use

if i learned anything

at all even late it's

don't show your

hand

sometimes that's

all that holds

the other side

it's the mystery in

that wonder of

if this

is all you 

really are

all they really

have to take

jagged time

as the time

passes

not like grains

of sand

smooth effortless

continuous flow

but more like

rice

jumping

erratic

and loose

moments scattered

against the

pane

of this

some landing

right

in place

not far from

the mess

others fly with

a tick

then silent

run off to

hide under the coffee spirit squeezer machine

know has beaten hope

there are larger

concepts in life

than personal

happiness

more

imperative

essential

as

breath

i 

never

used

to think 

this

television is

based on

principals

against 

this

society

medicine

mind fucks

all

against this

and i may have

lived my life to

work against this

until now

until the 

sunrise

until the glistening reed

got slick under

hands

between my

fastened eye and the

sun

until spring's swelled stream

overwhelmed a clutching

belly's urges
forced participant

to forget that sun

and let go

dare to drift

down stream
passenger prophet

escape the 

billboards

of

selfish freedom

know 

has beaten 

hope 

larger goals

beg our reasons for being

than personal 

happiness as

i go floating

down this river

like tadpole jesus

thinking

happiness

is harder than

hard work

and easy and

contentment,

merely that

and

that all i really wanted

to direct focus on

was the difference

between the two

Norlina

there is fever

that never leaves 

a mind

waking from

it rushes to

begins as the

dream of a

moment 

a paradise

of the last glimpse

of that tear

the taste/smell

of that...and

of a last word

about never

a jesus tee

a brown corduroy

belt loop

a shared pale

ale over free

community

television

squeezing

holding fast to

the vanishing

long washed 

image

from blurs it

re-forms as

the dresser

the clock on the wall

the sense they both

make

the day will roll

but the smell

the wet

the shaking hearts

remind like needles

now and then

becomes only unquenchable

thirsts

for sugars

in liquids and

alternative

and waking and

hugging your nothing