We move through these nights like swimming; floating above streets, homes & graveyards as we search for love, sex, money, keys, lost sleep. Our eyes meet briefly as you head off toward a distant sunrise, and I toward this city’s luminous blood of forever moving freeway lights. Hurry, we must be on our way. There are only seconds before someone pulls a trigger. Only seconds before someone plants the seeds of a kiss.
March 15, 2013 by Rich
March 13, 2013 by Rich
The sad rambling poem drank too much. The sad rambling poem was afraid of the dark and had numerous unhappy love affairs. It possessed too high a tolerance for adverbs, and constantly vegged out on the couch watching the Home Shopping Network. One evening, the sad rambling poem hung itself with an old typewriter ribbon. Come the next day, it had been reincarnated as an elegant haiku tattooed on the cheek of a clear blue sky.
March 11, 2013 by Rich
Scribed across deforested lands, melted polar icecaps, desecrated sacred lands, polluted rivers & skies are the footnotes of a dying earth. To outlast humanity’s inhumanities we must read our world more closely. We must breathe between the lines.
March 7, 2013 by Rich
I name the sky the first apostle in the Gospel of Beauty.
March 6, 2013 by Rich
My heart connects to breath, which connects to rib bone, which connects to flesh. Flesh connects to touch, to kiss. Kiss connects to life, love & light. To starlight & satellites. Satellites send signals through space, connecting our past & future lives back to the dawn of man, the ice age, bronze age, industrial age, right up into the electronic age where we race against time, rage against machines. Rage against the borders, bullets & bigotries that keep us apart, tear us down. My heart wants to get back to basics. Connect me to you to breath to being. Simply being.
March 5, 2013 by Rich
Out of sunlight & thunder-stricken skies; out of baby carriages & gun carriages; out of famine & feasts, feathers & fists; out of punishment & prayer, health & sickness; out of gravity & grace, wallflowers & fields of wildflowers: we rise, we thrive, we fly into the alive.
February 26, 2013 by Rich
In my shoes of sky, in my shoes of bricks, in my shoes of wolf howl cutting midnight air, in my shoes of song, in my shoes of storm, in my shoes of dog days & purple haze, in my shoes of water, in my shoes of motion, in my shoes of bird breath, in my shoes of meditation, in my shoes of celebration, I will walk everywhere with you.
February 12, 2013 by Rich
In dark & lonely rooms all over the world, bombs are writing memoirs that only Armageddon will read.
February 1, 2013 by Rich
I want us to be the breath that lives beyond the last gasp. I want us to be the cure not the cancer. To wear our scars proudly. To never be followed by failing light. I want our hope-chest hearts to bear the crush of all things. Every day, I want us to live lives truly worth living.
January 31, 2013 by Rich
The moonstruck dog howls a song that makes firing squads lay down their arms. Makes haggard truck-stop waitresses smile. Makes silent phones feel less lonely. Makes meter maids write fortune-cookie fortunes instead of tickets. Makes wallflowers tango. Makes beer & spit-soaked microphones smell like mangos. Makes rainbows weep the most amazing colors that Pollock-splatter a black & white world.