Believe

It is so easy to
believe
in an idea.

The actual things
are imperfect
and actual

cracks obvious
beginnings and endings defined,

but an idea

an idea
can mean just enough more.

Can blend over into all that matters to you
and still fill different hopes for me.

But the actual thing
is always less,

always a compromise
between how good it could
and how much we really needed
or could spare for something new
spare to make something new real.

An idea still holds all your expectations potential
potentially fulfilled
considered and intact

but the actual things that come home
are only what they are.

How to live
in and for
part
and fed of

alive
by an idea
an idea more
than I.

So easy
to believe

and so easy
to forget to.

So easy
to lose that state
where we live happier
than in our actual lives.

So easy to forget
to live like we mean to be,

to live like where we are going
and not where we are
or have been.

So easy to believe
so easy
easy to
forget.

My Own Cement

If my own cement
is fluid enough
yet thick enough
sufficient enough
but stable enough
I can avoid.

Avoid all
avoid the problems that will out live me.
I can stay stuck in this mud
wallowing through all this
all this that will never leave my head.

All this that is
that is tugging at my socks
making me add extra lift to every step

work like an unoiled machine
pitting metal against metal and forcing it
forcing it to find its own way to smooth.

I can avoid
avoid all
avoid the problems that will out live me

no wonder we fall easily to religion
and belief in the afterlife,
it makes all this individualism work

allows me to stick here in my own mud
and dwell on small things
small things that cloud only my own eyes

the best in me or worst in me
may hurt a few around me
but really not to the equal of so much
much more left undone in this world

to be able to believe
we'll count
count beyond the time in these bones
that the the space we fill
is only building

only building
a more

a more
to come

to believe

to believe spending so much
time in my own self sarrow, insecurities and improvements
instead of feeding a few of the hungry
is worth it, or worth something

to believe it
that it is worth
worth it.

If my own cement
is fluid enough,
yet thick enough
sufficient enough
I can avoid,

avoid the problems that will out live mestay stuck in this mud,

to believe
we'll count beyond the time in these bones

only building
a more
a more to come

to believe I
I am even the hungry.

Instead of creating a great statue to make another dozen fall in love with art
or a painting for the same

no instead I spend years
writing self pity down.
Or is it up?

To believe
we'll count beyond the time in these bones
in this flesh
that the the space we fill
is only building.

Instead of what I'm doing
this adding of steal rebar to my cement
ever adding weight unneeded.

To get from my current ignoring
ignorance
to working
to believing.

The believing few of any flock
really get to,

to the pursuit
to a goal
the hope
that one day
I'll be a better person
solve a perfect puzzle

some permanence or assurance
like so many search.

Perfect puzzle of words in me
or someone else's book
that will turn it all around

instead of pushing along the whole
instead of pushing on that which only so few really do
and lead others to more.

To do the kind of things
that would actually really boost me out of my lackings
and into feeling productive and wonderful.

I've had days of this
but barely years and certainly no where near
no where near the lifetime
lifetime I have already half lived.

I hope to find a way
under my feet
these feet
that is not just a thousand years in the making or repeating
but true
and willing to be current,

want of feeling worthwhile.
I want of feeling worthwhile
I want everyone to feel a beingness of worthwhile
worthwhile

what a difference
a difference
that makes.

Can't get it without being outside myself
not stuck in my cement
but out in in others.

Feeling worthwhile
what a difference
that makes
if everyone
could feel so important,

what a difference that makes.

Red Lights

Red lights
on open empty roads
whose to stop me,

coming home
again,

feeling a little less proud
than I'd like to be,

red lights
at all four winds.

In day I could hope
to catch a glance
of someone's eyes
in a shared experience,
stopped,
put by chance into a team effort
for a second out of the highly divided lives
and constant quests we drive ourselves around on,
to be here
working to get through
this intersection.

At least in the busy daylight there is someone
to give reason
to the taking of turns.

instead
it's dark,
and quiet,
all alone.

I try to obey the signals and signs
for I know not what,
especially at this moment.

Red lights
on open empty roads
whose to stop me.

Red lights
on empty,
dark,
quite,
lonely roads;

like my own self, the one I see,
a blocker
holding everything back for nothing and most often no one.

Which turn to go
go which way
where to turn
turn these lights off,

turn these red lights off,
send all the cars through,
all through.

where is
everyone.

Why so lonely
here?

Red lights
only for when
or where
they serve me,

but how to know
when day and night
blur,

at least let me have
the clairity to make
mistakes on going through
as opposed to holding here.

Holding here,
all here.

Dirty Streams

The way home
runs though a dirty steam and miles of land
that has been forgotten
but not spared our leveling.

We'd never do this to most of our palaces
but when we all own only
our own little stamps
and don't feel all the land,

feel the land in here,
in here feel like it is all of us,
or feel we're all only here of it.

The real purpose of religion
still failing us whole
potentially flawed in the belief this world was meant to be temporary.

There's temporary and then there's getting enough mileage to get home
enough time for all to have a turn,
to smile,
to breath,
and to rest again

Bridges are so hard
hard to build.
Lets stop digging the ditch we are,
stop digging
and keep the way,
the way home open.

Leaving Traces

leaving traces
that will outlive the trees

the upheaval we are laying upon the land

is burying our thoughts enough
suppressing our minds
in the feeling it will never change the world
even if we know that is only
only if we fail
fail to find all the others that are just like us

but knowing there are numbers and finding them
are so different
so different

will I leave a mark that outlasts these trees
or even just the one tree I planted in my own backyard
will the future dwellers here on this land
just look and curse the shade in the fog
and embrace it in the sun
knowing nothing of the soil I dug
to bury its still living roots

surely they won't find the box
the wood, cloth and fabric that went in with those roots
now in the trunk and mulch of leaves
rounded many seasons over

I look and know
and maybe do my children
but we rarely last beyond

and not that I want to
but I want all to live
as though they are are trying to
and less of all this just surviving
what a world it could be

what a world it could be if all were living
for a legacy and not to survival
a real legacy not coins 

if I could find
and others could find
and were driven to find
all the ways to be better
and all the ways to live the long right, not the fast and short
to protect this land not just write a history we want told
to but to live as bricks for the future we want to tell it

Home in My Own Shoes

In the shadows
the threads are so much thinner,

letting go
too easy
when no one is watching.

In the shadows
all I have is inner focus,

the walls get higher
walls get higher.

The sound gets clearer
and less of it needed to hear,

Less of it
needed to hear.

No sun
to show
me the smoke
rising.

In the shadows
letting go
gets clearer

No sun
to show
me the smoke
rising,

and finding the threads
the threads back out
so much harder once you've dropped
dropped you're grasp.

When your reality
becomes only
where and what
you are.

When no one is watching
and you've dropped
  let go
     started a stop

but here I fell too far
too far gone
or alone,

and just need one extra hand or eye
to get back.

We need the strings
the threads
threads to hold us

We have them
whether we see it
or tug them so loose they seem gone.

But in the shadows
when no one is watching,

the walls get higher,
the walls get higher,
in the shadows
the threads are so much thinner,

letting go,
being bound--having reality
only lasts so long in only one's own mind only.

In the shadows
when no one is watching,

the walls get higher,
the walls get higher,
in the shadows
the threads are so much thinner.

The sound gets clearer
and less of it is needed to hear

less of it
needed to hear

in the shadows
letting go
gets clearer

one day
I may just stay
or keep going down
the tunnel
instead of walking out each morning

can't see my mind through the trees
but you
you
if I can get one smile
on to your face
a day

one smile onto your face
a day
that I will keep coming
back
coming back for
back for
for this all.

In the shadows
it is so easy to have only your own thoughts
but in the morning
I have yours at mind,

and that brings me home
brings me home
home in my own shoes

in my own shoes
but more

more in the company
in hands and eyes
connecting

and as hard as it is
to hear
to hear through the din
of day
I hear what I need
hear what I need
what I need.

Up in air

All my memoried life
I've kept books
and notes
and binders
and dysfunctional squashed spiral bounds
and scraps
and thoughts disposed of on reused envelopes
with any pen I could find
while driving or trying to sleep

now
wasted
and worn thin
or maybe only thinner
I give

nearly give
give in

stand on a small dock
over water

could be ocean
lagoon
or river

flows
but not too slow
nor too fast

enough-- to cause reflection

the papers fly
but can't hold their own air

I

I am

casting pages
paper
ink to melt

paper
to the sea
hoping even there
someone will read

something will last
or find new form
to speak

pages
I have
I have given
given up
given up on

words worthwhile
but stewed over
over for too long
for a solitary life

knowing
but only partly
partially
that this is never
never to be

but not
not wanting
to admit I have no audience

and thus hoping something
something unseen
will find them

find them
my pages
these words
this randomness

and see the sense
the feeling
the emotion
or just something to make another
say me too

find them and reshape
reshape if nothing more
my world
if nothing more
my world
or anyone's

watching the paper
take on water
and sink
like a great sail ship
wood failed
fire or cannon
ripped through
its hull

that is how this often feels

some
critical loss

some intrusion
into the heavier sea's fluid matter

heavier sea's
fluid matter

some failure
that sends us beneath the line
and holds us
holds us
too close

like water used as a weapon
a weapon
holding us from air
but we
we knowing
knowing we're close to drowning

understanding
that survival is just above the surface 
if we could just fight
fight to above
above and in
in to the air

escape intrusion
into the heavier sea's fluid matter
escape the
heavier sea's
fluid matter

escape
the loss
and end
end up
in life

find and reshape
reshape if nothing more
my world

if nothing more
my world

if nothing more
find my voice and talk
to talk if for nothing more
my own words

but knowing all the while
as unique and me as I am
that I am
little of what
the all wants to know

I am piece
not puzzle
and holding onto dreams
is so hard when when you get here