6/22/2000

verifiable                                                

in undeniable terms to treachered

in moon’s silver cuticle these, they doubt,
yet they know not, very little
to doubt to murder in hope’s fire
to doubt and in fairy dust slip
it’s gone
in doubting show effacing ignorance to what exists and can

tho you do
I understand not these dreams or nightmares as such
in apocalypse to twisted metal and melted glass
no bodies but shells of humans…keys, cars
stuck on this strange island
holograms of people or rather a time/space interruption
I drove a van, red, with diesel fuel…1993 or 1994
her license said
everything clean and office buildings towering up

the ocean came swelling, salt sea and twisting
sand
I held it back with a towel
all my friends were there…some I know, and some will
know
trying to save them, I did
too early was the breaking in sun to my face
and the story, another chapter continuing on

in concrete, you hit your head
you feel it
the pain undeniable, right?
my heart, spilling out, replaced with pieces
of metal, maybe dacron
though the hurt is different

the blind may forever doubt the existence of
anything beyond the realm of immediate understanding
though conceptualization and it’s ability do not
make you or I suddenly able to see

and consider fortunate through fortitude
that even in sunken bleeding eyes and
bandaids slipping off, my heart lies still
beating in graduation to verifiable indignation
click
click
click
while their minds continue to
slip
slip
slip
blind to the colors, red fire and blooming through dust
seeping into slim corners
my heart
it must….
 

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I have a book of these, littered in books of them somewhere in my boxes. I used to give out poems on cocktail napkins and there is a bartender in NY as well as a small handful of guys out there who have been the object of my affection, having had my little napkin sonnet drawings full of liquid imagery wrapped in desire and dreamy expectation given to them.

I have been thinking a lot about dreaming lately, mostly because I feel like dreaming is very necessary to living a healthy life. Conscious lucid dreaming and subconscious dreaming help me feel balanced because without them, I’d be vacant. I tend to do a lot of dreaming, and head in the clouds is definitely not a term unused on me. I need to do more meditative work, and the finances to support all of my wild endeavors, from starting the tooth to the yoga to the tai chi have just been compiled very recently, so I hopefully won’t be sitting here waiting much longer. Now we are onto the doing process. I can say with absolute certainty one thing about Denver versus NYC. Starting something and finishing the things I start is not only key, it’s the only time in my life I have pushed myself to do do do do do do do do do without regard to trying to negotiate full time school and work. Everyone thinks I am freaking out and doing too much, except a friend in NY. I have had no less than 3 or 4 people say, calm down, you need to slow down, relax, there’s no rush, or any manner of decompressing fuel to simma down now. (that’s summer donna for those in the know)

This poem has pieces of one of my dreams I remembered I had written about years ago, so I wanted to share it. I got this this diary a few weeks ago which is filled with all of these lascivious lusting excerpts with Desire emblazoned on the front of it. I want to fill it with all kinds of lovely things, poems, accounts, etc. It seems that my most private and often times most personal writing only exists on paper. The rest of this stuff is just out there for anyone to see. Which is maybe a little different me than you think.