Carry the stone until you are the stone. Swim the waters until you are the water. Then, skip stone across water. Skip stone across water. Ripples of you travel in all directions, forever.
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Skip Stone Across Water
May 16, 2012 by Rich
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The Truth of the Matter
May 15, 2012 by Rich
Helicopters circle my blood at night, hunting guilt and criminal thoughts; searchlights blind me, police bullhorns spit machetes and Miranda warnings. And while I’ve suffered my share of doubt, screwed up, murdered the occasional stranger and loved one in my thoughts through the years, I’m happy to report that I’ve generally been quite good with pets and houseplants.
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Praise the Graceful Beast
May 3, 2012 by Rich
Wild horses run through my brain, move across my thoughts, sweat out my pores, gallop down my arms and legs. Praise the graceful beast that knows no boundaries.
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Ghost Font
May 1, 2012 by Rich
Sometimes my brain types in the ghost font. As soon as I speak a certain thought, it’s gone.
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Untitled
April 30, 2012 by Rich
Deep within us are lush forests. Let us explore the shadowy green underbrush, swing through high branches; play call and response with bell-throated wolves. At night, moon honey drips from candle-lit skies. Let us catch it on our tongues: sweet freedom is there for the tasting.
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Explosions
April 26, 2012 by Rich
If there needs to be war, let it exist on a dreamer’s terms. Peace, poetry, promise: these are explosions I can live with on a daily basis.
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Our Lives are Music
April 22, 2012 by Rich
Hum & catch of breath, fluctuation of temperature, fierce thrum of blood, velocity & purrocity of voice, shuffle and drag of shadow—all these elemental rhythms and more we carry with us through our days. Our lives are music.
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Into This
April 12, 2012 by Rich
We are born into first loves and last goodbyes. Into a hand over the mouth, a hand over the heart. Born into invention, reinvention; discrimination, illumination; religious intolerance and lactose intolerance. Born into brawls and boneyards, malls and funeral parlors. And with our first newborn cry, not asking to be this or that; just doing our best to seize our first shocked breath in this strange and beautiful world.
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A Wild-Eyed Look to the Weeds
April 5, 2012 by Rich
What words do the newly buried dead whisper into the ears of Mother Earth? How life is too long, too short? How life is given too freely, or taken away too soon? All I know for sure is that their words rise upward—through rock, sediment and roots. They bring color to the flowers, and a wild-eyed look to the weeds.
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Crude Chemistry
April 2, 2012 by Rich
When we collide into one another we are atoms creating newly discovered molecules. We trade DNA; swap atomic numbers through tongue kisses. Some call it a crude chemistry. I call it touch.
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