they’ve accomplished a lot

when they can’t give one more thing

because

they’ve given

everything

they are the dangerous ones…

because they want to take back

what they have given

they need praise

because they’ve praised

constantly

they need attention

because they’ve lifted

everyone up

they need smiles

because

their smile

is tired

they don’t know how to rest

not with people

in a crowded room

not on a planned trip

to the moon

but an afternoon nap

where they wake up

not sure if it’s morning

or just an hour

has past

they check their clock

they lost track of time

they aren’t its prisoner

anymore

the sunlight

set them free

rest

is a neutral

restart

there are things

that will fill you up

for me

it’s curiosity

a book that takes twists and turns

a bike ride

where I spot

what doesn’t belong

an imagination

like wallpaper

over moldy

splintering

walls

these things

keep filling

despite

a glance

that steals

a look.

Rest,

it’s MADNESS

not to.

I decided to play golf with some uptight people from work yesterday. They are so uptight, that when I talk to them, I can sense them shutting-down like clams. They think they are doing me a favor. I know these types, and people can’t stand to be around them, but I’m curious. What is life like to be a clam?

 It takes time to get to know them, as you jump through their hoops to gain their approval. You have to be an anthropologist and speak their lingo, to put them at ease. Don’t say the wrong things, and don’t give your personal opinions. It feels like your oxygen is being shut off, so you need to find a different source that will keep you alive in the meantime. They will try to understand your psychology and shame you, which is to be expected. They don’t give up anything real about themselves. Their questions always begin like this…

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have a sister.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a manager.”

“Is she married?”

“Yes.”

“Kids?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She has dogs.”

DISAPPROVING LOOK.

I have always thought of myself as a conservative, but maybe I’m not. Maybe, I’m not anything like these people, but the fact of the matter is, I’m interested…

We ran into a couple of buddies of mine on the golf course. They were plowed and having a great time. They remind me of a couple of Irishmen, old, short, and full of magic. Golf is their game, where they can be free.

“What’s wrong with the guys you’re playing with?” Frank asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” I whispered.

“Why don’t you play golf with us?”

“Oh, I will…I will…but not today.”

We played until we ran into a guy who was even more interesting.

“Can I join you gentlemen?” He asked.

“Sure!” I said. “I remember you.”

“Oh, that’s right. We played together last summer.”

He teed-off and laughed, 6 feet 5, greasy-black hair, tiny legs and a massive torso. “Man, I need to get high!”

He started eating mushrooms, and washed them down with beer. “Look at my legs…look at my legs. I’ve had eight surgeries! Played football in college. You know, I want to get my son a scooter. He got into an accident, so I got him a scooter. Say… do you have kids?”

He wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to my co-worker. They were of similar age.

“I have a boy and a girl.”

“Ahh, there’s nothing like when they call you daddy.”

I could tell the guy was tripping out. I felt viscerally repulsed being in the company of my co-workers, and the guy on acid was starting to have a bad trip.

“You know, I feel like you guys are dead or something. I need to get away from you.”

I understood what he was feeling. He left.  Maybe there is nothing to be learned. We should go with our gut. We don’t need to take psychedelics.

The End

she haunts me

like a pleasant feeling

like dew on garden flowers

as I walk barefoot

through the black earth

there is no hate within her

no pride

no hurt

a perfect flower

flowers don’t scream

or sulk

or spread nasty rumors

When they laugh

it’s beautiful

and not a sarcastic stare

this woman, and I

enjoy a cup of tea

late into the evening

sharing our favorite stories

there is no talk of other people

envious gossip

or trips we will take

it’s two young people, old at heart

enjoying each other

the morning dew

before the afternoon sun

I trust her

because I love her.

you can get divided

into 55 pieces

like a chopped carrot

cut down the middle

and pealed of flesh—

a trimmed ingredient

for a much larger dish

because, who wants to eat carrots all day?

they turn people orange

a mild form of arguing

an orange blush

an unhealthy

Donald Trump color

the point about carrots

is, they’re supposed to be healthy

so, you should eat them

even though, you don’t want to.

I have a carrot curiosity about people

I don’t eat carrots all day

because, healthy spice

in a toxic meal

makes it taste good

and I appreciate that

like, when I become cold

and I climb into bed

or,

that annoying person

that I can’t get away from

who always helps me

find

myself.

Some people want to eat carrots all day

because, it’s the healthy choice

but nobody can eat carrots for a lifetime

except Bugs Bunny

and unless you want to be a neurotic rabbit

I recommend

healthy spice

in your life.

You can know what you like

and you can like yourself

it’s true, the truth is pure

and a little truth

is a bunch of lies

but life is more interesting

with stories that aren’t real

religions can’t all be right

but I thank God

that people have faith

beyond flesh and blood

beyond, cut-up carrots

and we get to be

the spice in life

like a carrot crusade

for all the toxic meals

Unless, you want to eat carrots all day?

I sure don’t.

You can’t hide

in plain sight

if people look for you.

Please tell me how to do this.

If I blow through my nose

and laugh at the wrong times

I’m usually left alone.

I have a common face

like a common conversation

that I don’t want to hear

and all I see is a reflection

there.

We see so little of ourselves

No wonder

others see us differently.

I’m lying in a hot bath

steaming

raindrops

falling

from the ceiling

this is my eulogy

my perfect life

that only I know.

It gets lonely at times

I wonder why I read so much

and think so much

it doesn’t seem to serve any purpose

other than

painting a perspective that isn’t there.

My living spaces aren’t filled with appropriate things

there’s a white wall and no decorations.

Painting myself on the wall

would be like giving a piece of great art

to kids with crayons.

I paint inside

with what I know

and what I know

is for me.

Most people

collect art

to show it off.

I enjoy the beauty

only I can see.

Faith in friends is marvelous too

if their belief is deep enough

and that depth of faith

never needs

to be tested.

inside

we find

stuff

we know

our box

full of stuff

the wide world is waiting

waiting for us to share

it goes

unseen

by us

trapped in a box of despair

the wind pushes a lake

like a whisper on water

the sun shines through

blades of grass

that cut

a yellow-green hew

spreading their black shadows

behind them

pushing up

through cardboard

like a daisy

that delights

in day

a fountain of white petals

under which,

dust and dirt decay

on broken toys.

We grow up

from our nursery

joining the wide world

with rules and no answers

many of us want the truth

to unlock mysteries

with keys

inside

our box

but they always go to broken toys

or padlocks

the keys

are out there

though

once you’ve entered a new space

and grown larger

it’s impossible to fit

back in

where the story-book world

makes sense

in the box.

Theories and language

explain what it is

confusing what we know

memories we see

inside

our box

a story

is a made-up word

a switch

in our head

that won’t turn off

we are turned on

by the outside world

unlike a box

bathed, in artificial light

do we need to know

why?

or is an unsolvable mystery

better than

a predictable plot?

death

underground

waiting for us

a story

we can’t help telling

answers

in language

never true

but good to listen to

I love to tell them

I love to listen

to a world

that lives

beyond my box

escaping death

for a moment

in this real

expansive

life.

I admire the people

who don’t do anything

it seems that people are

doing…doing…doing

but much of what they do

is stupid

don’t get me wrong

some of it matters…

and you always know when you’ve exerted yourself

in the right way

it’s when you’ve helped someone

who needed it

but there are also annoying people who help others

who don’t need it

Most of the time

you’re killing yourself

slowly

until there’s no life left

it takes courage

not to do anything

to recognize the hopelessness

of it all

if you wait, and nothing happens

there might be some truth in that

it’s so easy to do what others do

and get caught up in their games

they can’t win

and you can’t win

You can spend decades

paying off a house

or never paying it off

the end is approaching

sooner than you think

Why not think

rather than do?

you might not do anything

you might be a loser

in a game

they say, “you have to play.”

but your identity isn’t in doing

it’s the one

you give yourself.

Grasshoppers, hopping

on miles

of hot pavement

oily, viscous, burning

tar

impossible to fly

helpless

fry

fry

fry

poor grasshoppers

captured

by an amused little boy

bashed in the face

inside his jar

freezer frozen

unable to move

pierced by a hook

in the heat

flying, finally

drowning

in a blue lake

fish bait

while we crawl on green things

acting green

Camouflage

for thousands of little boys

with red magnifying glasses

who don’t know what it means to hurt

but who do know

how to spot the fakers

Pity is not in their vocabulary

smaller things

are squashed and separated

science

without salvation

the lives of smaller things

don’t matter

because their lives

will never end.

Is

Life

Defined

by accidents

drip, droplets

of magnetic

lead paint

on canvas

a careless master

who denies the accident

or is fate

a destiny with limits

a broken pin-ball machine

with bumpers

a TILT

that turns our world upside down

when we try to cheat death

We are revealed slowly

by our passions

bubbling up within us

like a half-drunk milkshake

abandoned

and fermenting

on a hot afternoon

Drawing a reasonable line

won’t make a picture

worth looking at

it’s a crude copy of a careful instinct

Destiny

is a well-struck golf shot

you can feel

when you hit it right

Can you hit it right

again?

most can’t

the things you love

won’t love you back

like the girls

offended

when you politely asked

So, love is a test

you must fail

over

and over

again

a hobby

locked away

in a dark closet

for the next generation

or, it could find you

without you

finding it

your pupils get smaller in the sunlight

then they grow larger

like death in the daytime

a magnetic miracle

blinding and willing

you hold onto

love.

I don’t speak

for to speak

is to argue

and I have nothing

to defend.

I love life

to explain life

in scientific terms

is to misunderstand it.

I often want to get to know

people

but often

there is nothing there

to get to know.

People are consumed by their culture

eaten

by what they don’t love.

No wonder

they aren’t happy

their power

is poison

rejected

and eaten

again.

I still reach out to people

maybe more than ever

but a dozen

silent barriers

prevent us from talking.

Oh, we might engage in robot talk

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Or risk, talking about the weather

to be full of sunshine

during an eight-month drip

is not in their forecast

and they look

seven days in advance

All they see is rain

We fit ourselves

into these puzzles

we don’t understand

better to be part of the whole

than a lost piece

without meaning

but the picture we go to

doesn’t fit our vision

being alone

and useless

ordered out

and replaceable

is not the grand idea we wanted.

I provoke

just to hear people say

what they think

and no wonder

they keep silent

or say, memorized lines

“You’re not a nice guy.”

“Oh, I am, I am,” I say.

I play along with their control

to get me

back in

but somehow

they know

I’m out

and once you’ve gone out

there’s no getting back in.

It hurts to be disliked

but I love life

all the more

I’m free

searching where I might go

they’ve replaced me

they don’t need me

Somehow,

being whole

is not being whole.