poetry is spam

A large portion of

poetry is spam.

But I don’t eat that stuff,

at least not until I get to see Hawaii

then who knows?

I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.

When in Rome, you know;

when in Rome.

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A thought while listening to jazz.

When we accept

that we know nothing

perhaps then,

we hold the power

to

know everything.

this tiny secret

Dying

Everything

Everyone

Always dying

Dead

And gone

People live

People die

And die

And on

For what is life

Without death

Knowing this

tiny secret, that

In death

there too

Is life.

getting out of bed

However you get up and out of bed

or off the sidewalk

however you dig yourself

out of the grave is commendable.

And if you choose nothing

that too is just as valid

as choosing something.

I see far too many people

driving themselves mad

with work and love

and money and power

and fitness and greed and guilt

trying to fit into some sort of

idea they’re bred to believe

will fix them when really it won’t.

They don’t need to be fixed

or loved or loathed or accepted.

They just need to listen.

Listen to the air.

Listen to the ice crack when hot water hits.

Listen to the sea spray.

But I know nothing really.

All I know is what I see and what I see

is beautiful and diseased and delicate

like a rose petal or a dandelion flower

plucked from the earth by a child

in the outfield of a baseball diamond

wanting nothing more than to drift away

with the seeds he’s blown to anywhere else.

However getting out of bed

or the sidewalk or gutter is the first step

and the rest well, the rest is just —

up to you I guess.

everything

just because you can get everything

doesn’t mean that you should get everything

because everything

doesn’t really mean everything

when it’s all you’ve got

nothing and everything

There is nothing

and everything

to fear. Anyone

who tells you

different is a liar.

Oh how the world

is a terrifying place

when you’ve already

walked through the fire.