Architecture of a mind operating on lower brain funtions

Charcoal cloud banks break

the day to pieces;

    split blankets and sheets when I’m too old,

    it’s too cold

and I don’t really

    care.

 

Accidental fatalities double the knot in my stomach;

          put to death

                            the stars

and chase letters across my palm.  very nearly

touching

               stringy words.

                            

Neutering white space.

 

Pretty, familiar syntax

          push the wind to impatience, tongue-

clucking, rutted

alleyways where solitude,

       whittled energy

weigh in at grasping fingertips,

     street-level opinion

. . .

 

          Listen to me.  And tell me.

 

when I’ve grown so small,

how can I possibly hold back the wind?

 

 

 

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

yes, yes, i know, but don't be a puffy thing...the more we die to this world, the more we are finished with death...and the more we are finished with death, the more useful we can be in showing others how not to be afraid...a broken heart is just seasoning...small, you couldn't be small even if you pretended

[...]

We are small in are minds and we listen to it too often. The heart says "don't try to hold the wind back, join it...be it"...be the wind :) This is truly a remarkable piece of emotion, dear poet. I have felt this way so many times and had I been in control, I would have left a long time ago, but there is something else inside of me. A heart to see this s**t out. To see what it makes me. Sometimes I can feel the expansion of it :) Just keep being amazing

[J]

dear lynn, your poet's heart is showing. such extraordinary insight blesses your comments. i am so gratified to have your kind attention and thoughtfulness. thank you so muchly. :)

[emmajoy]

Your writing flies into places where most people don't go, consider, believe in! Has always been the same, you venture... its like 'to infinity and beyond' brought to fruition, dear friend. And yet the negatives float to the surface and you see, yet.. yet.. you embrace them with language and make them seem less rather than more. Takes skill and a love of being alive that even you don't always appreciate. Perhaps?

' Listen to me. And tell me. .. .. when I’ve grown so small, .. .. how can I possibly hold back the wind?'

You can, will and do.. because you are who and what you are. So there.

(Had to read again, had to read you, tis the only way of waving across the ocean.)

'

[J]

oh. oh. there is too much too much to say ......... sometimes, juss sometimes, the world takes me. it does and i'm trying trying to meld with the music and possibilities and stop flying in the dark, dank places ..... msg coming ....... i dunno how i could love you more

[emmajoy]

(My Friend)

[emmajoy]

In this perfection, there's a sense of shall I, shall it, can i - weather the day or. .float into wherever. Tis a bewilderingly beautiful piece of writing.. but, where sombre thoughts have - God willing, temporarily grabbed hold of stamina and hope.

You always touch me, dear long.time friend.

[J]

oh em --- no matter the years between us, the hours and sensibility of voluminous exchanges, your amazing heart s.t.i.l.l. knocks me back on my heels. you have never shied away from nor judged me. you know the complication of the human spirit and offer only empathy and love. thank you, deareast ((((you)))).

[emmajoy]

(My Friend)

[SkinlessFrank]

At 3 am in the morning under the winter's cold how often do we think about just giving up? But it's the darkness speaking to us. Isn't it?

[J]

ahhh dear d, you are also well-acquainted with the slant of shadows at 3 ayem. and the cold of winter seems to add its unique dimention. seems to even seep beneath the barred door.