distractions from the body

distractions from the body

it is so tremendous even being.
I will never be stuck down to my body
my skin is like the sea
a churning layer between my body and soul.

I drift onto the ceiling
I am not my body, not my face

I cannot be contained, simply.
I’m in and around.

I’m sentimental for what I have now
I’m longing for it

I am not in my eyes,
I am the ocean, I am in the glazing windowpane;

I am never defined by anything. I do not consist of anything. I am not made comprehensive by anything.

such a strong sense of self I have,
my eyes are like universes you cannot understand,

let me be lofty.
let me take care of this moment.
left me to drift into the shadows.
let me be in between.
I’m aware, I see you, I urge you.
watch, watch, watch.

will I ever get it documented? can I ever grasp the words to tell you that life is such an incredible thing?
can you see it?
could I ever list the moments that define my life?
could I hide in your mind and show you,
the moment when you are all alone, and suddenly you sink back into your body. on your intermission. in between. going to bed. you sink into your body and it breaks into a bitter unexplained sad. but it’s only a moment, it passes.


we are all distractions to rid ourselves of the body.
it consists of laughter and joy and exaggeration and art and yellow and dance and despair and high and expression, beautiful beautiful expression.
in between the sorrows and the joy what do you make of the nothingness? of the breaks?

of what I can only explain as sinking into your body.

it fragments, it fractures, it’s only a moment.

what do you make of it?

what do you say of your life?

is there happy? do you live in your body?
where are your safest havens, refugees to divert?

it is an effort to rid ourselves of the body. earthly, you try and fill the void you were born with!!

is the true fill religion? if so, why does it feel so hard?

why is all the new era rebellion?

religion should break us from the body. even when most take a few shares but they still feel unconvincingly buried and compacted in the body.

true ways, how can we find them.
it is the division of joy, is it the destruction of it?
how to act?


religion. but for most, it’s a Sunday and goes. how to make it last every moment of every day. how to make it a life.
how melancholy is life without zest, without religion, without spirituality!

but then it almost feels parsimonious to live and laugh and contain joy with breaks to the body. to have these moments of happiness which I do, and not know what to do with them. is the right way to live becoming an agelast, fusty and stale? are these what matter?

it’s all matters, that must be it. that must be the truth. of course, I can believe in a plan, in God’s plan, yes I know there is a Christ.


how to live to escape the breaks, in our bodies, the containment I feel, I know you feel it too, how can you not?

but there is still so much to learn. I’ve not breathed long enough to make much out of it. to make enough about what this memory has to offer me. because I haven’t possessed it yet.

but what if that’s what I say when I’m 40?

buy into my delusion, if that is all I am. let me have it.
I’ve always had this same urge for something vaster. I just know I’ll never find it.

there is great beauty here, do not let it go untouched. scour the earth to find it. please.

and this isn’t to say that I’m not happy, it’s that I am.
I am.
I hold these moments within, not knowing what they indicate. not knowing if they are a memory in making.
and so, it makes the breaking bits even more hard to grasp, to fathom.

what happens in between.

I suppose it’s a reflection. I know this isn’t a remedy, it’s only poetry. it’s nothing tangible.

there are love and sadness and joy and happiness. and dance and art. art is a feeling.
I feel it every day.

and I admit art because I’m made of it. and so are you.

wisps of a cloud

wisps of a cloud

we never speak of when the clouds die,
when the sky ages and falls
i didn’t see the sun going out
to break an eternal law.

we never saw the mountains tremble
never saw them sleep,
i wonder if they’d notice,
would the people weep?

the wisps of a cloud carry on
(did anybody see it?)
and it transformed into the fluff of your hair
the strength of your bone,
(look closer now)
and the sky saw and made way to skin,
how it loves to stretch over, becoming again.
(it’s all around you)
when the mountains died, they became the point
in your fingernail, they hurried into the
grays and shadows of your eye,
and for the mountains know of age,
they colored your hair of gravel and stone.

i never saw the sun go out
fall shriveled to the bone
(take notice)
the light and shine under your soles
when the day is done i’ll see the remnants in the doorstep.



cultivate my sense of poetry
your lyrics are a forgery
they said they saw god in everything
they live, they dwell in the ordinary.
you critical of the divine
you look for spirituality in the shelter,
in the looking glass,
in the subway belter.
understand to us, its no mystery.
you said that christ was a man with a legacy
yes, i’d agree with individuality
but there is more than what’s seen in street lights
and walkways to the everyday.
0rganize my thoughts into the tangible scripts
no more, but
still don’t romanticize life without loving.