whatever protects me from being seen protects me from seeing so there is no protection at all in this place of hiding I grope, half blind, through the world of the wounded I fear my woundedness but even more, I fear my blindness
I don’t TRY anymore I just kind of HAPPEN and I don’t WRITE this it just happens THROUGH me and I’M not the one who LOVES you “I” am WAY too small for that love just HAPPENS in YOUR presence through ME
through the gift of loneliness, you lead me to love through the gift of suffering, you teach me compassion through the gift of my anger, you bring me peace through the gift of judgment, you show me equanimity
the rush of cars, images of mars pale face on a subway train, hushed in a no-smoking lane clinging…to this mortal coil, as fires churn the plumes of oil
health food is supposed to be good for me like regular exercise regular sleep and regular bowels
I'm not a poet I’m just reading something the poet in me wrote I’m just repeating what I was told to say in a moment of inspiration
everything that is, simply is. there is no alternative to what is. there never was. everything that is, simply is.