A Triggering Myth Poetry

Once you get wrapped
around it,
it seems ultimately about
uncertainty.
The constant adjustment to
what it isn’t.
What it can’t be.

It’s certainly not negotiation
for there’s no will in it,
nor exercise of it.
It’s not needling endless
or chemi-calling legions
of lesions.
It’s not fighting on,
or bearing up,
or macrobiotically macro-fueling.
It’s not even the reciprocity
of our mutual support,
however grueling that may (CAN) be.

It is however,
about being
brokered deftly somewhere
between the dis-ease of existence
and the remedy of abstraction.
About finding some
supple adaptability, some
honorable acquiescence
short of surrender yet,
still embracing each
surging citadel, each
stone’s remarkable trespass.

Uncertainty 
and remedy.

Mine of Abstraction.
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You may
embrace reconciliation
But I think
I prefer forgiveness
There's something
renewable about forgiveness
Something active and
compelling
Living
Relentless yet repentant
But sin.......

Regret your sin
Forgive your virtues

Those excessive, defiant and indulgently sweet
From your deepest and darkest. What you know and like least
When forgiving your living quenches all of your beasts

All your sin
All of you

forgiving
them
forgiving
yourself
forgiving

even Eden
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We enter their houses
unstained.
Unclaimed
by words still bleeding
or fortune
blind.

Finding faith
or fault
or simple shelter within
walls and men cemented
by terror,
avarice
and their own sedition.

Falling over
visions
of higher truths within
glass hued murky
by blood,
shadow
and our own petition.

We live in their houses
stained.
Claimed
by their simplicity.
Their security.
Their ever maddening certainty!
By their sin.
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It is the moment.
That wondrous instant
unfettered
where reflection finds
nothing here
nor there,
now
nor then.
Delivered unencumbered
by the shackles of truths
and anguishes of fears spent
chasing.

That kenso where doors open
while closing shut
out
and in,
over (our heads)
and under (our feet).

Badgered and leery
guards fall
weak
still we seek
that moment
keyless and clueless to
our rages

....Between cages
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I went to see the crowd last night
like an old, battered, barge limping
back to a well known port.
I pass through the hunching doors and am struck
by the same sounds
of soprano glass and starched conversations muted
by ALL THREE CORDS!
By those same(-less) heads
bobbing and weaving like brittle buoys riding
a new wave of the
........same,
................tired,
.......................old,
.............................sea,
And the congregating kids who still listen
kneeling,
eyes skyward, heads bowed
in homage to the new faces of old ghosts laid
restless,
I don't belong
here
I remember the ghosts too well.
I weed my way across the room and find myself
sneaking out the door.
I only see ghosts.
The crowd only hears them!
--------------------------------------------------------------
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He stares
Deep and Brooding
and your eyes meet
Yet somehow you're sure
he's watching
that fly walking so gingerly
On the wall behind you
His feet shuffle and he laughs
without smiling or even opening
his mouth
and you know...he hurts!