Thursday, February 24, 2011

Y


and we grew up in the suburbs of our mothers home
on excitement and adventure: all we had was music videos and high-budget commercials
we listened to our cds and had our dream’s packaged and sold into tv shows, movies, toys, and music
we bought tickets to shows, shopped in malls, and we worshipped celebrities for not living our lives
we’ve never felt the need of our parents’ parents’ parents’…
cabinets full of cans, full of food
we can never go hungry
stores full of closets, full of hampers, full of clothes
we’ll always look new and pretty
we were civilized into excess and grew-up championing our parents folly: its more we need its more that’s gonna fill us
like gas tanks or abdominal pains; even a belly full of torn bread and manischewitz isn’t going to make us full
like an audience plagiarized by creation, we watched the confetti fall from the explosion of the baby boom
…and all the glasses collected on the countertops; even the last guest from this party looks tired
we’ve watched our partents fall apart and magnified by the transparent disillusionment of ‘how it was all supposed to be’
we took the route they told us, or found a road that took us, but at some point we learned to travel for ourselves
we don’t want to go where you’ve been and we don’t want to go back to where you took us before
they call us generation Y, but we’ve spent our lives asking ‘why?’
why climb up trees that never end? why act like we should do what you did, when it’s the drugs you’re on that make you forget your not happy
we don’t want the tired worn bodies from 80 hour workweeks. we don’t want the red face from the beers you drink when you finally get home
we don’t want a home gym or desert tables. we’ve watched the poisons of excess fill you, and it didn’t fulfill you
we’ll take a yoga mat, a trip out west, a piece of fruit, and a journal
if its the ‘doing’ that’s done this to you, then its the ‘undoing’ thats calling us

Sunday, February 20, 2011

and the thorns wake


the words drooled like congealed semen gummed against wax paper
this wasn’t how my love was supposed to summon the depth of me
but my reaches have been called
as though my vertebras lie along a stiff axis
“Don’t do me this way”, the bullhorn of Tragic imagination projects itself upon the possibilities of the world
like a 4 year old with paste and construction paper in grainy shades of dull primaries….
i begin to cut-out the maybes and howabouts… I want it to be something real and lasting
but i know its not fair to constrain lifes possibilities with my limited understanding of the infinite…. 
it takes trust i know… 
besides, i’ve given up the keys to my life a while ago…
… its just...
…its just…
his mouth is so sweet, and his heart is as pure as light

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

forever(lavishly)

its a moment that brushes up against your
soul
and the direction of your life changes
forever

its a love you've never known, but always had inside of
you
it transcends time and space and makes the real
unreal

it quenches all longing, makes everything wrong
right
and whispers your next step as you begin to ascend through
life

faces, ideas, turbulence and structures change
from the projected and mundane

to the womb of life carrying you towards
a peak that's approaching infinity

human love is this invaluable and necessary linking of the
hearts
but to know the love of God and to have been loved
healed

is a transcendental magnificence that stretches your
heart
and soul to the expanding edges of the
universe

and leaves one always a seeker
infinitely approaching infinity

craving more and more of the
sweetest nectar of pure, completing, fulfilling.....

love.