And it’s hard as hell.

I better be a fucking amazing Druid after this.  And I better have my home.  This tree-hugger needs to put down roots next to some tree friends.  You hear me, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?  Fuck you.  I kill you.  I kill you two times.

Yes, I am threatening the well-being of psychological concepts.  Because that’s how I roll.

To the nemeton!

While nature emerges from the cold, dark, damp

I hibernate from the world

With every bud and blossom

I descend deeper into the morass

When did this reverse engineering take hold?

Must I succumb

To the tired convention of the despondent artist?

Must writing come from wretchedness?

I wonder, as words crash together in my head

Only I fear that instead of discovering creation,

I have instead been pulled into

Their black hole.

A vision

One of many

How do I tell

Which path to take?

It speaks to me

With the siren song of passion

But that passion

Has ADD.

Just choose one, the gurus say

But one-note wonders tend to

Grate at me like

Nails on rough stainless steel.

It is not in my nature

And if it is against my nature

Why would I want to

Conform to that mold any more than another?

There are consistencies

But not consistent answers

Consistent dreams

But not consistent means.

I don’t need a whisper from the Universe

I need

A glaring, neon billboard on the side of the road

And a GPS telling me when to turn.

Bring wet carpet

And rain on your head

As you use the toilet

Had a burst pipe

Two stories up

I had the fun

Of cleaning it up

This was my day

Not feeling poetic

Listening to a fan

Trying to keep the rug from molding

There was a bubble in the paint on the wall

And wet spots on the ceiling

But hey, the bathroom is clean

And that’s worth something!

Yup.

Internal demonic seeds

Planted long ago by someone other than me

Act like weeds

Pull them, spray them, trample them down

Cover them with a barricade

They come up through the cracks

Trying to dig them up,

Their root systems deep

Somehow, when pulling, pollen and seeds fall from their bloom

To return again in force

I need to plant a positive seed

That, when established, will choke out the weeds

Overtake the negative

Somehow reverse the norm

Of weeds killing

The seeds we would like to see grow

Perhaps the bullshit

That feeds the weeds

Will instead fertilize

The mighty oak of love.

Onward!

Positive words splashed across the screen

Like blinking neon messages from the divine

Saying, “Don’t give up.”

Surprising little revelations of the senses

Reminding me what life is like

In the midst of “How can this possibly happen?”

There is also, “It just will.”

And watch as the dirt and crusted blood

From old wounds washes away

In the torrent of cleansing

I scrub at the floors

Dust every shelf

Burn sage in an old glass jar and watch

The smoke curl as I fan it with a feather

I eat green, healthy, real foods

Soak in a mineral bath

Release negativity through my pores and

Shed some of that protective layer we call fat

I dress myself in ritual garb

Bells jingling against my bare foot

I am prepared to face

The rest of eternity

I open the front door

Please come in

I know the entryway is littered with

Broken shards of fragile ego

And the curtains on the windows

Are drawn tight against prying eyes

That might see too much, and run away

You can see there have been footsteps here before you

In the dust that I’ve been meaning to sweep up

They go in both directions

Who comes in, inevitably goes out

But the longer you stay, the more I’ll clean up the place

Crack open a window and let some sunshine and air in

Sweep away the cobwebs that have accumulated

In the recessed corners no one bothers to explore

I know there is a moat

Full of monsters and alligators

That you have to cross

And a guard dog who barks

Menacingly at any who near

But they are there for my protection, you see

Invaders have come here before

But once in the inner sanctum

I will show you the fire

Few have seen it, and those have been burned

Hence the retreating footprints in the dust

But I know somewhere, there is

A mad poet

Who will see the flame and

Caress it gently with their fingers

Their calloused, rough fingers

That have seen too many harpstrings and thorns

Immune to the damage done by a flame on soft skin

And upon feeling its heat

Will smile, and

Put their own candle beside mine

And our lights will dance in the same wind

And melt candle wax into the same pool

Accumulating on the table top.

To reverberate in his stomach

As I press my ear to his fur

His bright green eyes half-closed

He leans his head forward, and we touch

A gentle bonk, bonk

Better than any hug

His paws softly kneading

Claws in and out

He rolls over to reveal

A fluffy white belly

With one paw twitching as he sleeps

And one fang protruding from his mouth

A contented grin on his face

When he awakes, he will chase his toys

And meow for food

But not before

He gives me a slow blink

And we touch, a gentle bonk, bonk

Heads or souls, the effect is the same.

…This poem is about one of my cats, Yuan.

My man

Lifting the burdens of our man-made suffering

Heavy metal crosses forged in the heat of self-doubt

Clean

Washing away the drawn-on scars

Clearing the clutter of our hoarded attic full of fears

Pure

What is left is what we are

Made of love, we are the blue-white flame of passion

Burn bright