Words and Invisible Cords

To the Land Down Under From the Little Red Dot My space expands like a ripple Set by a drop of grace. When excitement and anxiety gel They stick and breathe rhythms of Palpitations in the hundreds Thoughts, running in the thousands. Breaking the comfort of a world familiar Is the hope for good beginnings Uncertain as it may seem for now The skies will soon open, my meditations calmer. I rest my fears In the mapmaker Of unchartered territories.

My brother deflects a hug With the agility of sprinkled water Hopping through the surface  Of heated oil in a pan. My brother flinches over endearments Like a bacon wrinkling, shriveling. Our sweet words Reduced into mere affectations. But he feeds us with umami Until our guts herniate  Through the crevices Of our hungry hearts. His love language is as discreet As the layers of subtle flavors Rising from his buttered skillet-- Pickle relish.

Tired of looking up But the air is more abundant On this side The pangs of life Suffocate the chambers Of the garrison Left unprotected. Note: Inspired by my time at Mt. Elizabeth Emergency Room. I was in so much pain.

An extra slot  For an extra day The day that slips thru the week Is as abstract as the asymmetry That syndicates the evenness And balance Of the days That find full circle In the remains Of their oddity. Note: Inspired by my pill box that has eight compartments

Loneliness, if only you could talk What would you tell me? You are not a person who could say Hi, hello. To talk back to me Is self betrayal But what if you could What would you tell me? Would you tell me to look At the shadows and imagine their real faces? You can shove me all you want But there is no force sealed in a vacuum Only the intensity to frolick In the sound of your silence. But if only you could talk If only you could also listen And capture the spirits Of the tides, of the sun's rays in arrows. But I will have to wait Until you talk back And I will wait even longer Until I grow tired of you Nonetheless You have the perfect memory To remember that I Once asked you to talk back to me. Note: I wrote this after I watched the movie 'Into the Wild'

How to see a dying a man With eyes that open less frequently now With your eyes that open less frequently now In his sleep you witness the throbbing chest It rises and ebs It rises And ebs. How to see a dying man The one you also claim your own The one you also claim you own It's all yours When you realize it's no one else's Gone. To see the world in the eyes of death Is to see death in the eyes of life How to see a dying man Through the eyes of a dying soul? Note: I wrote this after I watched the movie 'The Bucket List'

The Chronicles of Narnia Tells us of Mr. Beaver's honest question: Is Aslan safe? To which the answer was a resounding 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you. When Lucy Pevensie met Mr.Tumnus at the Lamppost The little pensive girl was told it marked  The beginning of Narnia Chronicles of a vast, unfolding adventure Of turkish delights, and alegories That escape the imagination Find their expression in the subtle sweetness Of a trap.  Chronic pain of tarnished innocence Swells thru the thickest snow Freezing life to numbness. Until Aslan breaks the frigid suffering With his roar that cuts thru the darkest forests He isn't safe But he's good. Chronicles of incessant wanderings Find their respite in that ever so tall Lamppost Ushering the way back When we all need to leave.