6 of 10

Stereotypes
have always made me uncomfortable
like a diagnosis I never asked for
because I did not find myself
ill or impaired.

Stereotypes have always made me itchy
--and there is a stereotype for that--
written like a prescription from a shady doctor
with a wink and a smirk.
It's meant as a kindness,
a sort of 'get out of jail free' card
to hand to whomever may try to expect something
which my stereot-um-pardon, condition may not permit.

But all I hear is limitation spoken forcefully,
but not unquestionably
like the voice of the Wizard of Oz
after the curtain has been pulled back,
"This is who you shall be and no one else!"

Oh really?

5 of 10 *Note: I did not know who this metaphor was for or where it would be used, until today.

The bottles clatter outside in the trash can.
I know you are home and what you are doing
Before I ever see your face.
I feel the plates of our world buckle and bend.
I hear the rumbling of tectonics,
The shifting of the way things are.
When you finally stumble in, fall up the stairs,
Everything I already know is confirmed.

And I smile like nothing is different
Because, in a way, nothing really is.
You must feel like a Greek god
When you move the Richter scale.
At least, that is what I figure.
I know, much more than you realize,
How hard a man has to fight for control
And what it feels like to have the world against you.

But that will never make you right.
You are sorry every single time
And that helps.
That helps until the next.
There always is a next time.
More bottles. More words. More shame.
Yet, it only takes one good night's sleep
In the arms of forgiveness to forget.

I should probably thank you though;
But I think that you would assume
That I was making fun of you.
I mean it though.
Your earthquakes have taught me
So many things like what disaster really is,
How to pray, where exactly I stand,
And the deceitfulness of ideas like security.

It has taken years of growing up,
But I have finally learned
How to be more than a survivor.
That, also, is something I am thankful for.
Getting by was never enough for living.
However, I am not fool enough to thank you.
You, sir, cannot take all the credit.
May I remind you, that things do not have to be this way?

Things do not have to be the way they are.
God forgive me, then remind me,
If I ever, ever let go of that.
And the way they are is wrong.
This constant shifting but never changing
Will not be forever.
You may be the Greek god of plate-tectonics
But no one worships the pantheon anymore.

4 of 10 [a little late in coming]

5:00am
My alarm awakes before me
--as is its habit.
It has no tact
Just that constant war cry,
Like an ambulance or squad car
All lit up with lungs yelling for a race
Or chase.

But the blankets...
They wrap around my limbs
Like stolen goods;
And sleep comes like a thief.
I am just a bystander
yet the alarm holds me
Always in the searchlight.

Hands in the air!
Reaching for the sky
--and my towel.
Apparently, I have aided and abetted
A criminal.
That...and I assaulted an officer of the law
As I hit snooze and, eventually,
OFF.

Now I am to be escorted
Downtown.
I stumble down the stairs as though drunk.
Breath tested for alcohol.
None found.
(But I should brush my teeth anyway.)
That will wait. No time.

I am hurried into a small room
With a bright light
And a loud fan
And told to strip.
A splash of warm water in my face
And a set of clean clothes later...

And I am a responsible citizen again:
Ready to contribute to society.

3 of 10

Tell me the secrets
That led to your falling.
Whisper the words
That first captured your heart .

Did they make you feel weightless?
Important?
Or Free?

Oh, Love, please tell me
What spell was spoken,
Which promise pronounced,
That ever could have made you leave?

Words are deceivers
--No, worse!
Words are mercenaries.

Love, have you not seen,
Words march for truth and guile alike
Without one helpful glance
To give you a clue?

Tell me the secrets.
Whisper the words.
Speak them aloud.

Hold them firmly besides truth.
See if they shrink and fold
Or grow bolder.
See if the fall was worth it.

2 of 10 (yet unedited. forgive the haste.)

I have always loved the stars.
When I was not yet 3 times
around our star, the sun,
my parents packed up the car
and the kid.
We drove from south to north,
sleeping under the stars in sleeping bags,
tarps and, occasionally, the Honda.
And I, not yet 3,
could not imagine a more beautiful ceiling
or a more comfortable bedroom.
I was already in love,
already lovesick,
already hopelessly in over my head.
I have never really recovered from that.
Perhaps, I gave too much too fast
to my first love.
Years bring growth and tears
or else growth brings tears and years.
I have never really figured it out.
I still love roads, and traveling,
And always the stars.
Some years since,
many more travels around our star,
I have lost much love,
Loved and lost,
and found yet more love.
But I have never lost the stars.

1 of 10

If I had a super power,
I think it would be something obscure
Like metaphor.

That is how I conquer my days anyway
--if you can call it conquering.

The secret is to never
EVER
look life in the eyes
but never look away.

Always call it by name
as if you know it
and all of its tricks.

I have made up so many names
for the faces life has made at me
but they keep working.

Names,
they soften the edges.

Metaphors,
they sound like names.

The tricks I play
as I spin the only language I know
are the only defense I have,
the only barrier between me and powerlessness.

Brain: In Pictures. [Translation Accompanied]

I have exploded.

This morning, this afternoon, my brain has finally erupted, unclenched, and given me hell.

I, I am trying to pack. 

I am more than a little excited to go home for a spell, even if it will be a cold one.

But my brain, my poor brain. It wants to leave nothing unfinished. I had to give the old man a face lift...

He's not done yet . I need to teach him to smile with old man mischief.
Oh, and eyelashes would be a kindness.

And I had to go through my class notes and keep what I liked...

oh, composites class

Then I had to take pictures of the remaining art that I have been ignoring...

edge of the world

and projects that have [temporarily] failed:

And food art...can't leave that out.

So there you go. Eventually, I plan to assemble poetry and stories which have hitherto been under wraps and stuffed into whatever void is willing to hold them and hide them from my restless mind. As it is, I am due to be on a train in 3 hours and have a bit of progress to make between now and then.