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Personal Note:

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Poem

many are lions as once was I, 
but now I sit on the porch 
and swing.
As I watch my lives go by.

would it be so bad to dream 
and of dreaming be enclosed 
in the circular motions 
of others

I once wore a paisley shirt 
and said goodbye,
watching an only ball
rolling down the gutter 
disappearing
into the mouth of a sewer.

Those empty moments of every life
where the thought never occurs
Astonishment 
is what they call it:

the unexpected experience
a dead zone. 
the zero.

Our heroes 
always appear in bright spots,
hence the halo.

I have not seen my blood for a time.
It is the red that always remains
who we are, where we are, 
what we are not,

it allows the internal to emerge
the external to enter
more often than not 
there is fear
but when fear comes
you must remember that it comes

it comes.

therefore, it was never really here
to begin with.

I have tasted wooden spoons
when the batter is gone, 
my tongue brushing  the fibers 
of the wood, it feels good.

that curved kernel of popcorn, 
a golden retina of shell,
married to the curve of enamel
Artfully bonding to an outside tooth
where the tongue cannot dislodge it.

I tasted metal lips pressed to mine
where water and life emerged. 
the faucet was my friend.

I tasted places where tongues explore 
and eagerness collapses,

touched the velvet back of caterpillars,
stroked pollen wings of things 
more beautiful than I.

I have seen the beauty
of those things that mount the sky

I have slain and lain with things
and wondered why.

And I have thought.

This alone ought to be enough,

but we are always 
and have always been

more than enough.

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