What To Say

What would you say to the flower
            for the deep belly breath 
                                          of the smell 
                                                      of home?

What would you say to the ocean
            for the safety of sweet soothing 
                                                         sizzles
                                                                to calm any storm?

What would you say to the breeze
               for electrifying your body
                                                     with a
                                                           gentle brush?

What would you say to your favorite food
              for allowing your lips
                                              to
                                               slow down time? 

What would you say to the butterfly
             whose beauty provides
                                              unquenchable
                                                                  wonder?

I love you 

Native Nourishment

A black velvet flying carpet washes over us as we sleep

Foreigners stay up late into the night crackling acoustic sparks into the cavernous silence

Light spills into our eyes, surprising even the birds, causing them to clear their throats as if they were already awake

We both roll outward like a creaky old drawbridge making way for the passage of our telepathic geriatric squint to acknowledge we have mirrored feelings

After a few minutes of clumsily preparing nourishment like a pair of drunken blindfolded bears we slice through the heavy cloak of the natural night to regain control of our bodies

We coerce our frozen robot limbs to approach the trailhead

The vigorous exercise of scrunching our foreheads, tilting our chins up and pushing our retina to the top reaches of our eye sockets to analyze the ascent thaws our bones

We drop layers like a pair of excited teenagers until the cold nibbles

The heat of burning the previous day's fuel and the cool sharp mountain air blend our bodies with peaceful purpose as we feed our Ancestral Need.

Blue

Don't exhaust yourself
           trying to blow them away

Observe their beauty

Gray will be blue again

Let Yourself Take Shape

The waves of shadows blow towards me

Leaving sparkles of glitter flashing off like a million excited fans

To see the light

You must face the dark

Let the water mold you

Resist and it will unleash a barrage of endless attack

Invite it in and let it gently re-form you

Then you no longer have to be whipped by wind

Take the shape nature intended

Cool Blood

Thank you

                Sizzling Waters

                                Radiant Sun

                                                Breeze of a Million Tickles

                                                                The Sticky Peanut Butter and Jelly

                                                                 Sandwich of gravity and Earth which                                                                  only feels like I’m being propped up

Thank you

                To my everlasting internal scaffolding of bone enveloped by organs, flesh and blood which push equals gravity’s pull, except when it’s time to grow

Thank you

                To my self-healing, elastic onion layers of wrapping paper skin which have the strength to hold it all together and the flexibility to move as needed

Thank you

                To the unknown alchemist who methodically mixes my perfect pot of elemental soup, while executing the precise air traffic control of alphabets in and alphabets out

Thank you

                To the automated accordion player always on cue, pulling Os from thin air and releasing them with Cs, the length of whose notes drive the orchestra’s pitch

Thank you

                To the one-two beat from the iron pump drummer, going day and night listening attentively to the needs to his neighbors, pumping powerfully when asked and quietly when untasked

Thank you

                To the drummer’s cousins, the non-stop nannies never complaining while they flush the maestro’s many vices and bad habits

Thank you

                To the 90% of the wrinkly gray maestro who takes care of 99% of the coordination and goings on, and would do 100% if the other 10% of him wasn’t too busy to listen.

Thanks for Making ME

The glaring sunset in your eyes
 
Honey so thick you have to scoop out the comb
 
The single solitary stone perched on the edge of the cliff 

The old overweight naked masked dancer
 
The shoe-throwing Iraqi assassin

The friend who tells you you're fatThe ferocious growl of a lion-suited child 

The kitty with no time for your pretenses 

The protest that made your commute three hours longer

 The mustard stain on the shirt from your closet

 YOU know what happens if you put your hand in the mouth of a hungry tiger.