fervor/does restraint help that real thing ripen?

where is that place of “inspiration?”

is it a place i can go?

can i live there?

is it safe? reliable?

can i give too much?

what happens if i do?

can i overstep into something not real?

is restraint more real?

does restraint help that real thing ripen?

or can i live pouring into this day and this moment, first.

can i allow this moment to be too much.

am i believing too much in the clear lines and frames of words to hold heavy things, should i just let those burst as they are?

didn’t fanon say he didn’t trust fervor?



that boring day that led to a crisis

i waited for movement
judged that there was none
couldn’t end the day
yet, this couldn’t possibly be it.
i was not present,
the buddhists would be horrified.
i did not see the cracks or petals
growing. i probably didn’t breathe
that day.
and by nighttime
lost in busy city
car horns, street signs,
dirty storefront window,
looking for myself.
always looking,
especially tonight.
i didn’t look hard enough,
now i have nothing but the panic
of looking. not enough,
not enough! not enough
inside me so i
look for buttons
to push, magic pill,
speed dial,
cheap date
freedom i can purchase
running, running, running
from the threat of nothingness,
naming this
nothingness, in a panic.
rejecting the unseen,
the space between
the traveling through
the time before
the unhappening
unable to

mood: drained // “there was a peace that came over them; peace that only comes when one finds complete acceptance first with themself and then with another.” // “i’m at my deathbed and still not satisfied”

i have slowly settled, molecules, pieces,
tingling, descending into
the ground and deeper.
i am standing
as straight as i can
redemption of
a gentle breeze, salted
i can barely lift an
arm to wave goodbye
gaze at figures and
shapes dancing from
another dimension
the dream dimension i
cling to so
submerged and covered
in figures dancing
dreamlike on a horizon
submerged in dreams i
watch now,
hardly able to stand
or lift an arm
i walked the
long road, the
steep and
i chose the mountain
enveloped in a thick
mist. and i saw halos
walked miles and miles and miles
towards halos i saw in the front of
my forehead that
kept facing
those mountains,
not seeing mist, not seeing


peering over the edge of a cliff

imagining life into the
vastness of nature i’m hardly
connected to in this city. peering over the edge
acres upon acres 
pulls feet to the ground,
threatens to overtake,
the cliff is dizzying. i could fall,
but at least
there’s more
not content
to fit fillings into
slots. plug ready-made moments into ready-made times of day.
spill paint into the
gutters, crash
purge, crash, exclaim
jump blind,
recover later.
rather than
hum along, drum along, fill slots and
nod at the simplicity of the day’s

when you’ve questioned every hand

i am amongst stars
we create our worlds
if everything we see
is created
how stuck are we,
i am wondering
to remain
brave, ripen over
time – am i
not always
the “results”
and this is true –
if i don’t seek i
will not find.
but when you’ve
questioned every
hand that was meant to
hold your
dream, what
do you fall
when you lose
your way?