Piano Time

    It’s starting to get cold so we entertain ourselves indoors.

What are the mental benefits

of playing piano?

We’re starting to look like our mothers.

Piano Time was originally published on Heidi McKinley

I'm trying to try

Should I belong to you or should I fall into the flow? Should I belong to anyone or do I have to remain in traffic? Re: between me You saw me and I wasn't embarrassed even though I am very guilty You bent down and chalked something No one ever talks about what you wrote But the accusers dropped their stones That was the day I decided to make myself into a perfect human There are three things I'm working on The first is I need to realize that every person thinks they are a good person The third is to be okay with the bridge of heavy traffic over the quarry The third is to quit being so dramatic about all this dying I can't remember the second thing. My love, it isn't that we cannot speak I feel my life too much The spirit burned me and I haven't forgiven it I called the existential crisis hotline but the counselor only said "Don't do it. It's not worth it." Over and over and over Since that day with the stones I've had to give everything a story For instance the goldfinch on a false sunflower The sparrows flying from branch to the ground to branch again The northern lights The destination of those wolves travelling across the frozen lake This bothers you because my "why" never ends There is always one more "why" For instance, why can't I look her in the face? Or why, at breakfast, was I only okay until you asked me if I was okay? Instead you want to roll questions around like a rock in your hand You want to feel them not answer them Why aren't you afraid? We were in the river when the wind picked up Blown leaves hit my knees I looked up at the moving clouds and I called your name Your head was underwater You didn't hear me when the sky went dark I went to shore without you I went into the cabin and closed the door The storm was coming and I was warm inside because that's where you're supposed to be when storms come You're not supposed to be in the river You're not supposed to witness the wolves walking across the water You're not supposed to see the sky light up That is a secret for the wilderness You're supposed to leave your stones unturned At the center there is a silence That night while it rained – after I'd thanked the ceiling for the river sparing you – I dreamt of totality and didn't know what the world meant by "responsibility" You are under the impression that invisibility is a noble thing to strive for You say, "The truest things are unknown to me" I'm slowing because traffic is slowing not because I want to Who lives now? Now the shape of the sky The shape of my mouth when I say the word "now" I want to stop striving I want to stop the difference I want to drive off the bridge into the quarry So I can stop being so afraid of its bored yawn There is a difference between this and trying

BUDDHIST THOUGHTS

Victorian Cliff House, San Francisco

SACRED GEOMETRY

Maybe You Are Searching Among The Branches,

For What Only Appears In The Roots.

-Rumi

Black Sea Nettle

Sarah Awad

what are we up to?

Our guide walked up a hill, His one good eye poking into a tarantula’s hole. We were sweaty and distracted, squinting. The path weathered. Stone and structure, Jungle real-estate. We watched the sacred stars built layer upon layer, Hundreds of generations gone wrong. I am not sure. That crumbly mystery with earthbound aspirations, And cosmic problems, A giant machine hunting the origin of the universe Drunk on local rum, Standing before the ruin, Gripped with last week, We tried to figure out the universe, The similarities between structures and generations And why the cosmos is hospitable to life. Designed to do less The gods of the underworld laid out stone The priests mark the passing of time Silent They believe that the underground, in comparison to the cosmos, Seeks to explain things (in apocalyptic terms) Everyone is unhappy Unfulfilled with panic Watching the drama of a country that they put together Culture weakens like a natural disaster The world works The system continues The current time best uninspiringly on the elusive origin of blood We did not expect to suffer the true cause of the exodus Soon, in some future, ruins will survive and people will speculate what the priesthood was up to .

found word poem “When Mortals work in Cosmic Time.” Sunday August 9th, 2009

what are we up to? was originally published on I Wonder

Obama told me the future is true

As time passed he thought of moments they shared. Unequivocally human. When he asked the sky all of our questions, all that was said was, “follow the white duck. He leads to the pond, where scissors cut skin as easily as paper.”

Once I touched you. You asked me the meaning of Obama.

He told me once that the future was true. Life is infinity.

foxhead: unknown authors and I. 2012.

Obama told me the future is true was originally published on I Wonder

The earth said to me

What is the weight of a multitude of equations falling to the lap of a girl who found security in clouds.

When she looked up and coughed, the earth felt still but it wasn’t.

In school I learned that the world was not able to conceal his anger when he pondered the fate of the squirrel inching toward the walnut.

On occasion the earth glimpsed himself. He thought of an afterlife full of stories. Where we find our nerves disconnected and bodies de-evolved. I understand his anger and his love. In one moment he said to me, “I wish you would leave.”

foxhead: unknown authors and me. 2012

The earth said to me was originally published on I Wonder

the work we do

All of us are going to return to the peak of the mountain eventually

The sailor himself anchored to my proletariat heart.

We don’t like the work we do.

We repair your roots and feed you. You move farther, distracted from being. Open your wings. end it all.

-Toronto, June 2014, Leo, Ibs, Heidi.

the work we do was originally published on I Wonder

Walkabouts

I sit in darkness under the tree of life waiting for an early death.

Around the watering hole all the animals stood not drinking, just staring at their reflections.

sing. eat. walk.

sleep.

I heard the dingos in the distance. The Milky Way passed over me.

-Toronto: June 2014. leo, Ib, Heidi.

Walkabouts was originally published on I Wonder

Circles

During the evening your heart flower was open to the possibility that the future was worthwhile. My mouth felt warm, creeping over the edge of my third glass of wine. Taking long breaths, I sipped slow. It is funny to think. Who analyzes me? Who analyzes us? Our faded ideas looked the same for the first time. Just like every face we looked into eventually, in memory, became the same face. I suppose it is not too late to speak openly. I bled the bed. The time comes to remind me of my death. Rebirth is impossible because your sperm didn’t have any effect on my body. Just like your life didn’t have any effect on the void encircling everything.

-N.S. & H.M. at Trumpet Blossom May, 2014

Circles was originally published on I Wonder