If i can't scuba, then what exactly
has all of this really been about?
she thought.
She masks herself with comfort
diving miles below surface-
level headed,
toward a space.
connecting dots
like thoughts through constellations.
there is no weather
under water. she is weightless
and she experiences
a sudden darkness.
four walls                 there-
an amphitheater
with a singular light that shines upon one
black box
still upon a stage.
And it seems quite apocalyptic in a sense,
where pure isolation can destroy the mind..
with inputs uncontrollable..
beneath the land of living..
where one can breathe without the realization
of seconds passing by
like the slow rotation of the world.
However,
her doctors assured her that the depths and heights she dreams to reach are not approved since science can be restrictive based on rules and regulations.
And the fact of the matter
is:
that she will never dive deep enough nor conquer altitudes
with measures high enough to understand the content
that her subconscious instills within the mind.
Her theory will remain a mystery
among matter floating centered in a still life
painting
like one left out there in the rain
to melt away. to fade. to become so easily destroyed by nature's impression
on Tuesdays that feel significant
for a reason still unknown.

when I feel the color green,
I can breathe with ease,
and I am transparent in a natural state
of being.

I felt an earthquake once before,
which lasted a handful of seconds
where comprehension could not dare
to overrule the obstacle of fear.
And I felt my body sink
into a darker place (where it sometimes does t to prove itself of
overthinking)
where not even the sound of a siren,
nor the sight of dying stars
could lead to an escape
one day..
like the air leaped from a lung.  
And I stared at the sun so long
that I began to doubt the myth
of going blind completely.

Until the time came for another two dozen hours  
(or so)
when a memory consumed my entire
being, to exist within
a place where I could feel the oxygen leak
moments at a time
drip-
dropping levels quickly
when I could feel my heart beating faster
than I could have convinced myself
to push myself
to run faster than I believed was physically achievable
without running out of air.

There was a time when I felt love from a distance:
A mere fixture of imagination.
And I feel that the term
"too close for comfort"
may or may not be necessary,
in the terms of my summery here,
since miles add up like words
on a page
that has been printed and copied
for one to read...

alone...

to feel-
alone
and to escape
into a room
full of green grass
and glass walls

Is where I feel the wind
as I walk from past to future.










true story

I lost my birthday present yesterday.
Sterling silver,
and I wore it on my *******
since I’ve always been so fond of symmetry.
Though I hang my picture frames off center
to create a sense of balance
on white walls.

20 years.
A piece so simple, and easy to overlook.
But to feel it
And to see it there as I hold onto the
steering wheel that I use to control the very little
space that I place myself within. The present
reflects the sliver of sunlight that shines through
the sun roof, opened almost always.
When it rains I know the consequences
because I had made that mistake before.
I hadn’t checked the weather.
Now I am almost certain of the tides in 7 locations all around the world.

Lost in the sand and washed away
I walk without the comfort of the balance.
Blue stones always catch my eye
Even though my eyes are green, and I do connect with the nature of the shade.
On a series of levels,
Blues tell stories of matter
deeper than the surface.

I lost a gift so beautiful.
And instead of the ring, I’m wearing the guilt.
But this feeling must go.
And I realize this now,
That the mind will posses simple treasures
until they’re washed away
By time.

I like those little rainbows on the pavement-
a prelude of some kind.
and its vibrance moves in its own way.

and I like to listen to dreams on repeat.
to focus on each verse
individually.
because I can almost hear the thunder
like the echo of the drum.

and it rains in my dreams because I
find comfort in the chaos.

to feel the sun at the same time
is something that I like-
to coexist
is a beautiful happening,
like a rainbow-
which I do not see as often as I would like-
even those little ones that I may walk upon.

and I like the poem
"nothing gold can stay"
because I like to believe in simple treasures

and to dream that there is magic
in this life
where someone
sees a rainbow every day.

My pocket Bible holds my window open,
For the mechanics of this hole in the wall do fail.
This hole in the wall.
...can a hole be square?
For corners sharp like a sliver of Manchego, and
You rip the skin from the tip of your ring finger there, and
Blood drips to trickle to stain the hole there in the wall, and
I wedge my pocket bible to create a centimeter of space, so
I can breathe
Now, and
I can think now
About the homily i heard last Sunday.
Love is patient, love is kind.
The fresh air is a blessing.
Crisp pages full of spirits.
What is a pocket Bible's destiny?
Or shall I write it on my own?

yeah right.

he tells her,
take a backroad
and
go left, faster, let us gain momentum.
narrow and discrete
where the wind blows
wind you can't see
but she can see the future.
she can not grasp it though, aside from the feeling she drives.
driving through the future with her eyes closed.
through the lyrics she can hear the song
over         and over    again.
under water,
rushing ,
like blood into the brain:
an overflow of thoughts
breaks the windows-
glass, which
mirrors past and present.
will she drown?
will the music still play?

yeah right.

the radio breaks
and catches fire

yeah right.
there's no flame to find underwater

memory disguises a moment in time
that only the wind shall remember.

“Every time something bad happened, I would turn to poetry — it would give me calm,” said the poet, Sajid Bahar, 26, who lives in the city of Khost. “It’s been seven months that I can’t write. It no longer gives me calm. When I sit down to focus on one incident for a poem, 30 others flash through my head. My words do not have the strength for all of them.”

united we stand divided we fall

as he did in Afghanistan,

instead, leaves fall here
where the sun shines upon
the faces
of pennies
left there upon the ground
with these leaves -
like footsteps.
stained.

the wind
with words she carries
"i love yous" and "goodbyes"
it rains
but the earth does not shake
trees fall
lightning strikes
but the ground does not seem to move
when he falls
in Afghanistan,

there is silence
there is noise
there is beauty and
there is madness.

to rest in peace
is to be whole
with a heart that beats within the world
among the people

“In a different country, at least I can go up a mountain, sit by the water. At least my mind will be at ease.”

-The New York Times