Jones

candlelit steam and dreaming 

of waking up next

to someone... 

i'm about to be raw, 

let you decide

and wondering should I be 

bracing for sanitation or

a salve? and will you still

want the brokenness 

of me? will you

walk out of my life just as 

easily as "are you dancing

with someone?" or can i

cut in. 

is this you cutting out?

Set
     backs


Dear Spring,
For a season of new life, why so many set
backs?  Why the confusion and self-doubt? 
To be honest, why all the tears?

Mentally, I know these are not life-ending, but
they are life-altering--
so many decisions; so many do-I-dares1.
My composure is wearing thin,
my strength is waning, in their place
only well-worn seams struggling with the tension
of holding this self together.

Primavera.  "Springtime."
Prima vera.  "First real."
I think broken apart, like myself, 
those words offer a better answer
to my initial question.  
Why all the set
backs?  
Because of all the realities.
Ones I'm experiencing for the first time. 
Realities I thought would skip me.  Set
backs I had hoped to avoid. 

Yet a wise philosopher2 conjectures, "Pain is 
what you experience when you bump into reality."
For some aspects of life, this is the "first
real" of a Spring where to become whole,
one must be broken; to move forward, one must be set
back.


1 "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot
2 Definitions by Dallas Willard

November 1st

You are one of my heroes
This day and every day
but especially today.

Today, may you feel even a measure
of the sun's warmth on your face.
May you taste the beautiful things of life--
tea, laughter, wine, color, chocolate,
dresses with pockets, stories,
and a host of other wonders.

May you catch a glimpse of Meaning
walking through the garden of your life,
softly touching the flowers, yes, but also
the soil, the roots with Her bare feet.

Today,
you are loved.
And yesterday,
you are loved.
And tomorrow,
and tomorrow's tomorrow,
you are infinitely loved.

Mystery brought you forth, and She
sends Meaning to see you through.
And in all, They revel
in the intrinsic goodness that is you.
And in every tomorrow
you are loved.

Metamorphosis Pt. 6

Black smudges of sharpie & newsprint

Cover my busy fingers. 

And when the 11-on-the-dot sprinklers activate, 

I find another familiar I will depart. 

Giggling half-naked children in the yard, 

a dozen in-jokes with family, and 

the easy laughter of friends' shared absurdity 

all echo in the day's remembrances. 

The new costs so much. 

The New York Times accosts me with humanity's desperation. 

I use its news to keep things from cracking. 

And all the while smudges, sprinklers, 

a series of beats, and messages from a boy. 

Stars & void. Transfiguration.