i keep up with current events about as well as a shanty dweller in the great depression dust bowl. if i can keep the water running…. then i know about everything i need to know. but today, speeding home to meet my sons, and start my secret life as super momma…. i noticed a long line at a fast food chain, which slowed me to a halt.

and when i glimpsed at my only connection to current affairs online… i noticed that some of my less than well known associates spent time in similar lines, by choice.

fuck what a…

joan of arc and i share the same birthday. she was born of course a few years before me. but she was a lady glued to her convictions. she was determined and she stuck to her guns. like a nasty infection…. creeping up your spine…. always out of reach, changing her style, persevering in the face of fantastic odds. she burned for those convictions. shouldn't we all be so lucky.

my son told me he was not brave. i told him that bravery is not something we are born with. bravery is born in us, when we rise up to…

from here to there from there to here
the space between us is unimaginably large
and i am frozen stiff
i am standing still.

i have hopped along in discontent
skipping stones
skipping steps
stumbling, tripped, fallen from grace.

my heart is swollen into two
it burst and bloomed
it pushed and pulled
collapsed and deflated.

over rated! muse no more.
shaped to absorb abuse
strengthened, secured, silenced
facing the wall

partnered with shadows
tied tongues and folded blind
blood pressure rises
lover surmises my display

out of reach
kept in a bed side drawer
love like rubber
like never…

and one more thing… and on and on into infinity… if you want to provoke the bull, you should always come with more than the bible… and why on earth would you want to change, twist, or contaminate something you adore. when my husband placed me in the shoe box i felt safe and warm, and free from harm. but my environment became sterilized, and i tarnished, and the very essence that attracted him to me, decayed and became loathed. he made me into the version that suited him, and his creation repulsed him.

the gods and demons have their…

for the human race, aside from bible thumpers of any variety of religion, and republicans… we are free. we are free to choose. we are free to choose, and rechoose, and summersault like a child on the first day of summer, listing all the possibilities for the day.

there are plenty of possibilities that have and do make sense to me. there are plenty of rational explanations that have me hanging on, for more.

but christ has misplaced his crutch, and by being so disciplined, forgiveness included if you spin three times counterclockwise and pray to Yahweh, he sealed his…

label's only distract reasonable minds from seeing the truth… don't ya ever wish there was a word better than beautiful? the word conjures up immediate ideas in ones mind, of what society has deemed beautiful, super models, and babies, and flowers and sunsets…

we are taught that the more we learn the more we are free to think, and connect, and create… but it seems like we are simply being corralled into a crowded box… dark and dreary… same as it ever was.

like pick up a magazine which tells you that painting your walls anything but beige is so…

i have dedicated an entire year to submissive sorrow. so many moments completely drenched in a heavy weighted blanket of grief and gloom. i did my best to see that we lived, we participated as much as possible, like marionettes… dancing when the string master moved our limbs.

someone else was steering my mind, through the repetitive motions that us living are programed to do each day. fork to mouth… food swallowed, mouth wiped, plate washed, eyes shut tight.

a year to figure out what would become of all of this tomorrow. your memory is still vivid. your footprints still…

train tracks to no where,
sense taking time
sorrow runs deep grooves

takes time to grieve. takes time to breath, and beats to a different unkempt time.
basically wrecking this train to anywhere but here.

i take each breath with consideration for the last billion.
each step pains me as it did the first time through this brush, barefooted.

hope on a stormy horizon, shaped like giants searching for diamonds….
as i hide behind grains of sand, too frightened by the shadows cast down on me, to join the ruckus.

let the spying begin.
my eyes fixed on a prize…

its been a long while. since ive heard his voice. seen his smile. tried to articulate a feeling other then disappointment. zest for life faded as responsibilities mounted. and one by one all the little things fell far from my grip, or even my imagination. but this thing has been left, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, and two runs to tie.

when you left me, in chaos already i might add, not that you would be willing to admit your hand in any of it, i was not prepared to let go. i may have believed i was, but…

my therapist asked me to write a fare well letter to my husband. the anniversary of his death rapidly approaching, has my life screeching to a grinding halt. his memory has become a strategically placed wall between me and a future, between my past, and our progress. anger seeps in through imperceivable cracks in my frame… serenity always out of reach.

have not resolved my feelings and thoughts all tied up in knots stuffed away behind piles of cluttered remains of a life so vague to me now, so shadowed by relentless demands he made and now projected by everyone…