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.

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The wind

And all the other times

The wind —

Giving it’s all

— Just won’t quit

Blowing you down

Forever and ever

Picking you back up

And tumble weeding

You onward

A momentary peace.

Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.

No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.

Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.