Monday, August 29, 2016

When the light is low

I swear when the light is low
I can see noise in the air
The air is the noise
And the noise is the air
Indistinguishable, I breathe it in
And I imagine the static filling my lungs
And what was outside is now inside
Indistinguishable, nothing has changed
In the air, in the character of the air
Except I imagine it has
Changed on an atomic level
The essence of the air, of the noise
Of the movement, of the flow
Of the atoms imaginary and real
When the light is low

Monday, April 11, 2016

In Anticipation of Awe

It's been awhile since I walked aimlessly
through the house silent.

I feel so big next to all of these things
the table the chairs.

They barely respond when I touch them so
and I get so sad.

I booked a trip to the redwood forest
to feel small again.

To touch the living.

Sunday, April 10, 2016


It Is Daylight.
My Eyes Are Black Holes
blinking with fists.

A Draft Of Shadows,
The Essence of Truth
If You Ask Me

NaPoWriMo Prompt:

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Emptiness is Fullness (a ghazal)

I'm alone and wandering through Nepal tonight
The dry, incense-infused air fills the streets tonight

Temples appear unexpectedly left and right
I thank random Buddha for no rainfall tonight

I become, lost and found, a fool and a teacher
Each step through the night is a page I scrawl tonight

This is the breaking dawn and finale sunset
Existence is within total enthrall tonight

And I, शुन्यता, shout in silence to no one--
I am ready for sleep, once and for all tonight.

Friday, April 8, 2016

Thursday, April 7, 2016

To Define Ourselves Free

What does it mean to be free.
Is it something the whole can define, 
Or something each of us must define for ourselves.

And in examining ourselves
To search out what makes us feel free, 
is it even possible to put into words the feeling, let alone define.

But if this we don’t define
Again and again for ourselves
And still give the power to others to keep us free, 

How unfree can we be made before we redefine ourselves.

NaPoWriMo Prompt: — a tritina

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Beyond the Stars and Stage

I want to go where the real musicians are, the ones who practice day and night, without concert, without smoke and light, without trend and fan, where east meets west, classical sitar and flamenco guitar, staccato rhythmic clapping and Spanish. The musician travels inward, their sound travels outward, travels inward and my mind expands beyond this realm. The physics of it all is baffling. All of these elements moving in different directions as one cohesive experience. Both here and not here. This must be the secret of the universe, forever expanding and contracting, beginning and ending, the music our ever-changing vehicle, the musician our interstellar Uber driver.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

This Day Is Not Tangible So Quit Speaking As If It Is (a tanka)

Day is not a day.
Instead a distance travelled 
to come full circle, 
stand face to face with myself 
and laugh at expectation.

Monday, April 4, 2016

So What (a triolet)

So what
I’ll follow wherever your song takes you
along swinging riffs and solo blue
So what
if we get lost and never come back around
as long as you keep blowing that magic sound
So what
I’ll follow wherever your song takes you

Sunday, April 3, 2016

“I can’t leave her there all alone surrounded by stone walls.”

I can’t leave her there all alone 
surrounded by stone walls

One could argue she’s not really alone
in her mausoleum

So I’ll think of her fondly
in her tomb apartment building

NaPoWriMo Prompt: — in the form of modern sijo