Imaginary Truths & Other Thoughts: Poetry

Interlocked here in
a place where the devious
crept on low legs,
should we despair,
should we take our
outstretched hands
and cry once more to


If thoughts can be our prison
maybe liberation is the
the resides in the
pristine and
startling shelter
of imaginary truths


And we are all quiet
witnesses to those
things we want most,
crossed like
petals falling slowly
through the slates
of a wooden floor
Who are we,
appendages without hands?
Why do we dance
with austere Devils
and yearn for the celebration
of comic retraction?

What we really crave instead
is the deliberate motion
swept in by dazed and dazzled
eyes who have forgotten
the face of God

We want the glory of
that vision and the power
to have oneness singing
through ever pore,
inside and out

And then perhaps we
could learn
to sing our songs truly,
to hold hands to our
own rhythms
and be as we are

But we are so afraid
that we will ruin it,
so terrified that it's
not real,
that we'll dance a jig
to the Carrion Song
if only to pretend
that we don't care
about it anyway...

Blog Archive