small- quiet 2010

who can say.
magnolias are blooming
and there are cherry blossoms in sausalito.
it is only january.
it is only the beginning.

when i think of the friends i might
have in cambodia,
in cape town,
in cleveland,
i think,
oh, what a small world you live in karmen,
of yous
and youness
and you-alikes.
everything seemingly familiar,
everything safe.
pleasing she who is nervous
in a time meant for speed.

yes, i live in a small space.
and yet not at all, too.

mine is small like the world is.
a speck divided exponentially 
into a million moving fragments.
small like a heartbeat,
life's divine counter, counting.
small like her eyes,
taking in all of me sweetly.
a whispered vastness,
and silent expanse.
everything, 
and all of eternity,
hugged by four simple walls,
steeped in a universe of nothing,
save our ceaseless imagination.

yes.
small like that.

so much of this smallness that i have to remind myself,
although i do want to travel,
and visit shaded places and secret corners,
and peak beneath unturned rocks that serve as roads for locals,
i am exhausted (fulfilled) already.
here, where i am often used to things,
i am expanding.
the world from my window is different,
day in and day out.
the fog belt disrupts the scenery.
the fuschia painted blooms are opening,
and there are no bees to speak of.
the moons is full.
the moon is gone.

yes.
sometimes small is plenty.

still,
i lie.
i want to be bigger.
i want to stretch my self around a language.
i want to be an alien among aliens,
and rest the common among commoners.
i want my children to be citizens of everywhere,
and breeze through the imaginary bigness,
of a world bursting at it's seems,
like it was theirs for the having.
like it was theirs from the beginning.

and,
they will know this too.
that the hours we log as the dreamers of this dream,
are as much a gift as anything.
even as we curse our very nature,
and beg to wake up.

paper- morning putterings 2009

paper, 
like a slick field 
ready for scratching, 
or, 
burnt 
and endlessly sorry. 
for the weeds there. 
for the weeds and the others. 

paper, 
like a pool 
ready for draining, 
or, 
night-lit 
and endlessly giving. 
for the fawns there. 
for the fawns and the others. 

paper, 
like a heart 
ready for healing, 
or, 
stalled 
and endlessly sleeping. 
for the circle here. 
for the circle and the others. 

might i remind you, 
pleasurably curious one, 
the page that is quiet 
brings nothing, 
but everything, 
completely. 
all that you've known, 
all that awaits you, 
and all you've already forgotten.

nino- quiet 2009

possibilities now, 
winding around dogwooded rootings,
then,
up the sides of fences,
up the sides of stucco,
then,
embracing the almost-retired dreams that our mothers share.

a while back she may have softened an unexpected carrying
with day-time sun-sleeps,
and full-fat buttered blessings.
she may have smiled beautifully,
glowing,
and breezed.
before then
being sentenced to a life of full-time care,
one meant for providing somethings when there were none,
may have darkened the darkest of corners,
inspiring stolen minutes of unabashed recluse.
resolve,
a thing for strangers.

others, nino, woke with dread,
then put on a more right face,
then put on a more sure stance,
then put on a more sensitive tone
than the one that came growling with the sun-rise.
and,
with every evening's settle,
i remember her.
sharp as a whistle
pleased as a pistol
drunk as you ever saw one.

it is easy to remember for them.
my mind colors in the memory shapes,
fills them in
so that we may still have stories.

it is becoming easier still,
to color you now.
as you might be,
as you will grow,
when our dreams become allowing,
and the possibility of you blossoms,
flowering more brilliantly than a magnolia,
on a corner,
on the street where the thought of you was born.

(just so you know)- gorgeous unknowns 2008

you live near the corner of my mouth, 
at the forefront of my mind, 
on the tip of my tongue, 
under my fingernails as they stay grimy this morning. 

you are in this glass of water, 
pure, 
from the faucet, 
from the ground, 
from the elemental realm we so often refer to, 
and, 
rely on. 
you are from there. 
you are from the beginning. 

before we started i believed in finite. 
i agreed with 20th century neuroscientists. 
we are fixed, 
and figured, 
and explainable, 
still 
beings. 
the external happening otherworldly, 
beyond us, 
separate, 
apart. 
like seeing pages, 
feeling paper, 
reading letters, 
but not knowing truly, 
magically, 
the many symbols of 
resonating 
language. 

they change me. 
(just so you know.) 
every single one of them. 
(just so you know.) 

if you breathe loud enough, 
if you shake those branches that blanket this bedroom pane, 
if the moment you're having escapes you, 
if your pores will allow it, 
i guarantee, 
a belief will change, 
a shift will occur. 

these synapsis willing, 
these folds undoing, 
these limbs reaching, 
this back stretching, 
this mind expanding, 
making room for you.

for good reason- dancing girl 2008

i'm listening to your mix, and my mix, mixed together, on shuffle, tonight. 

they're mixing well. 

together. 

that's true. 

YES. 

no. 

YES, actually. 

yes. 

when the words come there is no stopping them. 
i will tell you this soon. 
soon, you will ask me about writing, and songs. 

what's the process like karmen? 
do your fingers strum before your heart arrives? 
or, do they dance together, always, always writing together, dancing? 

i will tell you 
yes, 
there is dancing. 
though my feet have been sleeping for years and choose not to participate. 
still, 
yes, 
there is dancing. 

and so, it is in my torso. 
and so, it is in my shoulders. 
and so, in my eyes as well, following the rhythms seamlessly. 

(we are new here, and this may read as jumbled, noodled, smitten crazy talk. do not be afraid. words are play are free are fun are for saying it all before it makes any sense, yo.) 

before i talk myself into clearer, less confused pastures, let me add, 
tonight, 
that i like these steps. 
and, 
i like them noticed. 
one. 
at. 
a. 
time. 
each, alone, and together, and alone, 
to be remembered, 
eventually, 
by two forgetful hopefuls. 

hopefuls who are sleeping now, 
on ground, 
in air, 
and for hours, 
on end. 

or, 
for few, 
for good reason.