A witch I knew in waking visited me in a dream. I was busy at the time she arrived, leaning over into the dirt picking up colorful, fat and fuzzy ribbons, the kind little girl's moms tied pigtails with when I was young.
I was caught up, talking to myself about the importance of being able to hold all of these ribbons at once, worried about dropping them, worried about what next.
I knew she was there in her soft and willowy way. She said nothing and watched patiently, judgeless. Her feet were clean in the dirt and her dress moved silently over them as she moved in rhythm to an evolution she was humming to.
Out from the periphery she came into full view, I looked up to her and she said, "If you worry so much about holding all of this you won't have room for anything else."
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
from all and various directions
At first, I carved my name into every tree you passed, on every bench you sat. Every street light blinked my favorite color, leaving you startled and alert for my madness, fearing such committed and unsettled acts could only lead to a harrowing encounter with a mad and wicked me.
You scan horizons for my shadow behind trees as my initials appear in every leaf you scatter. My memory sits tiny in the moss growing on the stone your house sits on and where the Cedars cling. You shake with the awareness of the audacity I have to keep myself ever present in the most unpleasant and indecipherable way.
You duck, hearing my fury wind rush you from all and various directions. I am the dust that sprinkled my corrosive image in your dreams that burned you awake. I am the ghost that breaks things and threatens to come close just before you touch the skin of a New Her.
But none of these wicked and immoral acts have I committed, but only for the sake of not knowing how. I awake from my sorted and true colors to see that this magic was for my own story and had little effect on you and yours. None of my fury holds to anything but my own neck, a wasted grip and with no consequence but for experience alone.
In the world of your kaleidescope, the only conclusion worth aiming for is one you haven't come to because the only moments your interest peaks in are created or corralled by you, the only person who is substantial and worth your respect, is you.
I have had the effect of the puddle you walk through. I stick to your boot for a while, dry to a dirt mark and fade.
You scan horizons for my shadow behind trees as my initials appear in every leaf you scatter. My memory sits tiny in the moss growing on the stone your house sits on and where the Cedars cling. You shake with the awareness of the audacity I have to keep myself ever present in the most unpleasant and indecipherable way.
You duck, hearing my fury wind rush you from all and various directions. I am the dust that sprinkled my corrosive image in your dreams that burned you awake. I am the ghost that breaks things and threatens to come close just before you touch the skin of a New Her.
But none of these wicked and immoral acts have I committed, but only for the sake of not knowing how. I awake from my sorted and true colors to see that this magic was for my own story and had little effect on you and yours. None of my fury holds to anything but my own neck, a wasted grip and with no consequence but for experience alone.
In the world of your kaleidescope, the only conclusion worth aiming for is one you haven't come to because the only moments your interest peaks in are created or corralled by you, the only person who is substantial and worth your respect, is you.
I have had the effect of the puddle you walk through. I stick to your boot for a while, dry to a dirt mark and fade.
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