The Lack Thereof

It scares me sometimes
that my world is as limited as my words.

there are feelings I don’t know about
because I don’t have them in my vocabulary;
but so subjective,
I don’t want to just take someone’s word for it!

People confuse me!
How can anyone ever measure their experience
with over used expressions of others?
With definitions,
that can be found in a dictionary?

Then at times
I dream of a brilliant expression:
the waitress fixing her apron,
I look over the invisible line that connects me to the left shoulder of a stranger
and lower my gaze to
sunrays hitting the spoon on my coffee cup
reflecting back in my eyes,
it flashes through my brain
leaving a gold trail behind my eyeballs
little blotches of dark glow under my eyelids
that smell like coffee and sun.
This moment,
I would want to copy and paste!
but I don’t know how
‘cause it still hasn’t been!
So I reiterate
just to discover that it’s been discovered;
that I have been discovered;
in an archetypal images of us,
of life,
of images flashing through our dreams
of a red vortex and Yeats’ gyre
of Japanese sensu and suzu gongs,
chiming balls and tarot cards
of sun, and snow
a werewolf and of medusa...

It’s all been there, already,
and my body remembers it



it’s all been and will be...discovered.

I walk down the street whistling,
my hands digging deep into my pockets
as if it’s a portal
that gets me to the other reality
that I just was.
whistling...

I think about how flimsy we are
between all the monstrosity we have created:

the callous metal cars that squish us into a lump of blood and bones
the cold cement buildings that collapse and entrap the flesh between their rubble...

we have made a big mess haven’t we?

I sometimes miss my mental breakdown!
Where nothing made sense
and yet my being was vibrating on a different plane
where flowers would speak
and I would cry feverishly
for a trapped image that could have no words!

I made no sense
but I knew it all...

it scares me how limited my world has become...