I’m Overcome

The night sky nearly drowns me as I sit under its hanging gallery.  I can outline the trees by looking at the sections of the sky that don’t have starts.  Black on black, if you look long enough the trees will become part of the void of space, and I can imagen that the trees were patches of darkness were stars no longer lived.

As the stars consumed most of the space in my sight, a small fire flickered and winked in existence just out of sight.  Consuming small pieces of wood that I fed it, I made it my companion for the night.  Trading food for warmth.  I could hear the proof of life out in the world, but I saw none.  To me, for that moment, I could have been the only person in that town.

Above my affair with the fire, celestial bodies move in a ballet of gravitational force and void.  Everything continues without my attention.  Chunks of rock and ice skim the atmosphere and I see one every now and then.  An entire universe moves in full function with questions unanswered.  Tonight, the fire is my home.  My relationship with it is simple, though there are many things that are not.  Those things, tonight, are not my worry here and now.

I consider them, then let the warmth of the fire take me.  Its light pollution becomes intoxicating to my eyes.  I watch it.  A visual hum, like the static of a TV, but nothing at all like a TV.  I think about fire, much like the sprawling night sky above me.  It holds a devastating and torturous potential.  Yet, I am able to admire it peacefully.  To think that I can control it is an evolutionary hubris of humans.  Yet, I stand in my human confidence to try and control fire with small pieces of wood.

Eventually the fire has its fill of wood scraps, and begins to fade.  Like the night sky, it turns into dark void with spots of glowing light.  I look back up to the stars, and for a moment they seem to hang right over my head in a gallery of light.  In that small moment, again, I feel the night surround me, and I am overcome with the beauty


Warm Summer Sun

I was struck with the sun last night.  I sat on my porch reading, and as the sun set it drooled red, pink, and violet fire across the sky.  I felt as though I must chase it.  So, I got on my bike and made my way to the sun.  the air was full of humidity, and the smell of the trees near me was carried upon the weight of the air, high notes of Pine, wet smells of Elm, and the rich sent of Oak next to the sweet nutty smell of Walnut trees.  The streets were quiet.  Perhaps everyone had stopped to watch the sun.  I rode quickly towards the lake at the center of town.  Here is where the sky would open from trees.  The water and the say would marry into on big pink explosion of debris in the atmosphere.

I stopped and drank in the sight.  There were people behind me on a roof somewhere grilling.  Cars passed as I stood and watched.  There was only one boat out on the lake.  It sat in the middle, engine off and music loud.  Letting the wind push them were it may while they live inside the middle of a lake of sun.  The warm colors pushed closer and closer to cool ones.

Clouds that hung high enough in the sky still were streaked with a glaze of pink as I rode my bike off into the humid air.  I rode until I couldn’t see the heat of the sun reflecting off buildings.  Even once the sun had fully set, and I eventually closed my eyes, I felt as though I could see the houses gently glowing in warm summer sunsets.

Fragility of Moments.

As I speed towards thirty I find myself reflecting on things that were nothing more than passing moments of my youth.  I find myself being more mindful of the fragility of moments.

Just last night I sat with a few friends drinking beer.  We talked as the sun spat red over the horizon.  We sat well into the dark.  There in the night flashes of an approaching thunderstorm illuminated our words.  While I was in the moment, I lived it at the speed it was happening.  I was consumed by the presence of the people and the conversation that was going around us.

Now, I can look back to how bright the moon was.  I can see the lightning in full bolts. The cold wetness my hand from the production of condensation the can of beer was creating.  How Claire’s floral pants and earth-tone-shoes, in the fading light of day, blended into the ground that her feet were planted on.  Bennett sat cross-legged in a hammock and swung gently, keeping the motion light on so that we could see each other’s faces after the sun had gone down.  A small dog sniffed at our feet.  As the streaks of light ran across the sky. We all peeled off one by one.  Saying our goodbye’s and wishing that we didn’t have to go.  Then, I too walked into the dark thundering night.  Off into the darkness to find sleep before work the next morning.

Your Own Death.

For a moment, it was hard to tell the difference between reality and the dream, but I was confident in my judgment.  I pulled on the small root connected to the large tree in the yard.

The sidewalk cut in to the small hill that made the yard, a retaining wall was put in to hold the dirt from falling onto the sidewalk when it rained. The wall was made of an old collection of large flat river stones.  The root stuck out from in between one of these rocks, and I figured that I would assist in the landscaping of the neighborhood by pruning it. Though, when I pulled on the root, it was like a key to a hidden place, some of the rocks pulled away from the wall, with the ease of a key, but the pattern of an accident. The yard was on the corner of the block and faced both north and west. After the rocks fell, I could see that there seemed to be an open space behind where the rocks were just moments ago.

I remember seeing bugs. Large bugs that I had never seen before. The northern side of the wall had also fallen, but more seemed to have fall away on that side. Upon peering into the larger of the two openings I could see more of the large chitinous bugs, nearing the size of a football. They were larger near the dead black eyes and locust like mouth, but tapered down in width and height the further away from the eyes the body tapered. Out of the bottom of their exoskeleton pulsed a fleshy tongue colored legs that, like a slug, were slowly gliding across damp rocks. Further inside there was something more than just a bug.

I was filled with honest human fear. A ram laid by itself in a bed of rocks, its back to me. The white hair was matted and dusty, but clean. How long had it been in here? Before I had knocked open the walls there was no way in or out. All the why’s and how’s piled up in to a traffic jam of fear.  The sound of the wall collapsing or the fresh light pouring into the room caused the ram to stir. I didn’t stay to see more.

The things that I dreamed were not inherently terrifying when listed out one by one. that didn’t stop it from filling me with such feelings anyways. I would relate the experience to standing on the edge of a cliff. You know you have good footing and that you trust yourself not to fall, but being so close to the possibility of the end of everything.

The demonic cerebral thrust of knowing you’re looking into your own death.

Pomes Written by The Summer

Clouds spatter the horizon.

For now

blocking the sun.

Spots of sun

can be seen

specking the land

in front of me.

Blazed with saturation

the sun spots glow.

Hot coffee

made mostly of water

fuels my eyes.


In and out of

spots of saturated color.



just cooler

then my body

rushes into where

I sleep,

& I breath it in

with enthusiasm.


I’m reminded that

I am human

every time

I am filled

with vast fear,

& like the

cold thin air

that fills this mountain scape,

I breath it in.


The hills


consumed by clouds

more then not.


Blues & yellows

greens & grays

swirling & twisting

over jagged rocks

that push and prod,

like needles


agains a water balloon.


A tent

perched on a


a small girl

in a lime

colored shirt

plays with

pine cones

the offspring

of the trees

that tower


the tent

& the girl

in the lime

colored shirt


The sun


the horizon

and covers


in color,

the things

that were

once shades

of dark blue

and violet.


Even the dirt

dances in the sun

like the wet grass

or the smoke

of a slow burning fire.


Dark Rivers of Indecision

There are deep dark rivers of indecision in side of me. I did not always know they were there. There are deep dark rivers inside of me, and I’m not sure what direction they flow. Some days they flow forwards and lead me towards progress and self-betterment. Then some days it makes me back slide, and I find myself clamming up and filled with self-doubt. Fearing anything that is close to me, fearing anyone that is close to me.

Through hills and valleys for pain I have traveled, and these ventures have lead me to find myself new armors. It’s hard to swim with all this armor though. My lungs long for air, and my heart wishes for a companion.

This armor protects my flame for passion though. It helps me stay on track and keep things out that distract me. At some point we all come to this cross roads. So we keep the armor on and struggle for air, but with a monk like focus, or do we shed the weights of self-protection and swim free.

These rivers are dark.

These rivers are deep.

How long can I hold my breath? Perhaps there is a way to swim with this weight. To protect myself, and keep my lungs free from water. Others have come to try and help me. They hold my head above water and whisper to me about how much easier it is to swim with out all the needless protection. In the end they get sick of trying, or I push them away clamming I need no help. Looking back down the channel of my dark deep river I am thankful for their help. In their own ways their accumulative help has left a mark that I can’t ignore.

Maybe they have saved my life. Like sirens of good will they have called me in to the shores of reality, and pulled my head out of my ass if not for at least a moment. Their work has not gone with out notice. I would go back and thank them, but there is no chance of swimming against the current. I would shout out to them but there is too little air in my lungs, and they are so far away now.

There are deep dark rivers of indecision inside of me. It is hard to tell which way they flow. But the direction doesn’t always matter.


Drowning in Love

I am so afraid of having children. I think my heart is too fragile to see someone that close to me be hurt. I have lost a parent when I was young and the scar it left is deep and honest. When I think of having a child or even getting married I am filled with dread of watching them die. I’ve had to see so much death in the few years I have been around.

My close friends are few and my acquaintances are many. I feel like I do it for the exact reason of preservation. I do think to a degree, close friends are like falling in love.

Looking in to the eyes of someone who cares about you feels, to me, like watching someone drown. You want so badly to swim out to them to hold them tight just so they know they are not alone, that you are here for them. But will they twist their legs in yours? Will you get caught in their struggling? Will they wrap their arms around your chest in a loving embrace making you unable to swim? Dragging you down as the waters become darker and more frothed with hopelessness, all you can do is look into their eyes and see who can hold their breath longer as you sink in to love.

Being close with someone is an amazing feeling, and it terrifies me.