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Society in Motion

Forgive them

Forgive us

Forgive the deep parts within you cannot trust

 

Time spent but never earned because this is a bus with no stops 

The fog in the rear is not slipping into the exhaust

It is purged

We are running, leaving it behind.

We cannot earn because we cannot bind

We are dust waiting to return 

We are rust waiting for the sun

To burnish us, turn us to bronze that flickers and wreathes like gold

The gold is nowhere but in our souls

The bronze is all that shows

 

And for what? For us to lose the precious little, trailing away like black smoke that unfolds,

pouring out the maw of a backside, not worth a gather

Not worth the sole you exhaust

Not worth the bronze you won’t buff

The rust that needs to wait for the sunrise to feel lust

Of self

 

None other than heavy mist beyond the veil

The dust and the fog and the time-shares of clutter

How you can breathe through the same pipes where all that sputter and gunk choke the inhale.

Choked

Unprovoked

Choke and roll over and sink down like the sun 

Unable to purge through the rays the bronze run.

Unable to shine and burnish itself to a gold spun by society; to relive that choked one

You know the one

Life. 

Let’s pick up the run.

Journaling Prose et Poesie
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Changeling

It does not softly rain through the snow
It melts, it hardens
The layers beyond are brittle
Cracked with the slightest pressure
Flowered with fluff
Relying on roots that do not pierce
That which does not pierce cannot persevere

 

It does not softly rain through the snow
It cures, it mixes
the mulch and concrete, serving us
Dirt from the deep
Footsteps wound beneath
Donning unique rivulets to the crevices
Through which the mulch mix
Seeps

 

It does not softly rain through the snow
It alters,
Waters down many moons, in flow.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Exhale

Focus on your breathing or some shit 

And let the fact that the scab is now a scar convince you that you are healing

(though, not quick)

The pangs will not always echo as long or flow as deep

The earth quaking in your chest cavity when you weep

will eventually not exhaust you

And the dark you so strongly want to deplete will recede

through the fault lines of your lips

Memories seeping towards release

Whispers in the mist –

 

Breathe, breathe, breathe

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Relinquishing

Try to visualize how big the universe is- can you see it?

Do you have the scope?

 

And that moment when you realize that the task you have just been set exceeds the bounds of your imagination- that submission to the impossibility of the Sisyphean?

Do you feel it? Have you manned the slope?

 

It is in that moment that you might understand it’s totality. And then, like me, all that will remain is the surrender of control to its unconditional being.

Have you learned it? Have you mined it’s hope?

 

I opened my arms as wide as they could go

Then imagined that I was throwing them even wider –

Wider than they could throw

I set about to gather the galaxy in their midst

But first I had to see the galaxy’s limits,

wrap my hands around it’s borders, and squeeze

them into the labyrinth of my ribs

 

I breathed out to remove the excess that would impede this feat;

Lungs and air excessive in the rift

that I had created to hold the universe within

And I should have understood at the end the same thing

I wish I had known at the beginning- 

That I could not see this galaxy’s limits.

 

So I stretched and stretched

and hoped to stumble upon its size within my mind

so I could then follow the map to its sides

When I realized I did not even know

the borders of my own mind

 

I could not touch the edges of my imagination. Yet beyond that lay the universe, HER own initiation, so I froze as it came to me that arms out wide, they lay short of reconciliation –

Are you living it?  Is this ship afloat?

 

Try again to visualize how big the universe is; try to understand that this cannot be achieved.

 

The impossible task was comprehending its very magnitude, understanding that I could not hope to reach it’s resolve; the moment when I finally let go. This is the only moment you need to understand why I closed my arms and accepted the vastness of the universe in loving you.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Juggernaut

“The next time he sees me, he should look the other way, pretend he never met me one day in his sorry life. “

He looked up.

“Nooo, you don’t know. You haven’t seen. He’s different now. Calmer. The last time he saw me, he bowed when he greeted me, bowed! He’s seen things since then. Different roads- life has humbled him, you’ll see.”

She snorted.

“People like him aren’t humbled. The soonest they get a chance at recovery, they jump into their old bullshit, treating people like dirt because they believe they are better, deserve better. That’s how you know his circumstances may have changed but they haven’t changed him.

Life has halted him, not humbled him.

For humility, life would need to have taught him some lessons, ones he actually learned. But he didn’t come to be a student of life. He came to conquer it.”

Prose et Poesie
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The Win

My hope for you today is that you recognise the win.

That when your continuous labour of love finally folds amidst your constant push – removes the occasional stumbling block and lets you stand a little straighter, you feel that relief;

My hope for you is that you breathe that moment, that the reprieve seeps in and reignites the hope within.

That the fear that barks around your ankles – urging you to venerate the strain we call the hustle, rolls over and plays dead to your victory lay.

That you take your moment when you have won;

do not bury the song.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Warrior, You Are

Do you know what a tough road it is?

Life,

I mean.

 

One truth is none of us do. In the manner that looking across a vast expanse cannot immediately tell us if the terrain will take a lot from us, or a little.

 

Sometimes, we grow by an oasis.

Sometimes, we are lost in a sea of sand.

The vehicles we all move through dictating

if we will crumble or stand strong.

 

We cannot know how tough this is.

Life,

I mean.

Not, surely, till we get to the end of the road.

 

What a warrior you are, Adventurer, facing the unknown.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie
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Buried in the Weeds

“Say you had a tougher love to give, Maeve. Would you do it? Or would you never risk dancing that close to trauma’s border?”

“Hmmm” – Maeve

“Ah”, he said, pre-empting those non-verbal cues he thought he read so well. “But what if you didn’t?” He was in full steam now, having triggered that cognitive latch that it seemed only ever showed it’s key hole with Maeve in the cut.

But, no, he hadn’t pre-empted the non-verbals after all. She was… Tired.

What the fuck? “Baby? Are you even listening?”

“Yes, Eli. But I also popped 2 5s an hour ago. I don’t know that it matters that I am because I can’t engage.”

Eli, 25, disappointed. A real pull-yourself-up-by-the-ankle-tats sort. Dreamer. Finisher. Seed. All this tremendous potential buried in the weeds.

Maeve, 29, satiated. A life already well spent basking on the well-grazed lawns of epicurean tenets. Ethereal, rebel, stud. One stop shop for, “all of the above”.

“Say this is an elaborate ploy for me to get in your pants?”

“Then it would succeed on no fronts. It isn’t a ploy, it isn’t elaborate, and it most certainly will not end with you actually in my pants.

Besides, I never wear pants. I am not modeling an aesthetic that would portray me as sartorially challenged.

And what the fuck did I say about calling me baby?!”

And she was supposed to be having an off evening, Eli thought. This was not going as planned, not at all… ugh, retreat.

“Ayve, my bad, man. I was just in that sweet spot and you know how light I get when I let it carry me away.” He smiled. She relented. All was unwound.

Sort of.

She walked to the fridge and pulled out a PBR. He knew damn well that beer was warm. He’d put the whole 6 pack in the fridge not 12 minutes ago, several minutes after he’d walked in, only two after she’d asked if they were drinking urine for their nightcap.

“I’m really sleepy, Eli”, she said, stifling a yawn as she plopped herself back on to the couch. “We can dive into it another time. Right now, all I wanna do is stay awake long enough to drink this beer and stare comatose at a screen.”

She started up quickly, catching herself, “And before you go there, no, we aren’t diving into whatever you’re thinking. Your name isn’t Sean and your latest hit isn’t an ode to my amazing V.” Her eyes danced in the pale blue light emanating from the TV screen. She set those twinkling orbs on him.

“Alright then, so why am I here tonight if its not that and we’re not engaging in meaningful debate? What do you suggest we do to pass the time till we both fall asleep?”

Shrug.

“Settle in?”

“Eli.” She said his name like a punch. He could feel the dent.

“You came over so we could chill, drink a couple cold ones,” she eyed her PBR suspiciously, “eat a bunch of girl scout cookies, and waste away like two morons who have a deep appreciation and understanding for each other’s moronic tendencies.”

‘I was also hoping to get some of your witty banter, my bon mot tossing friend.” He wasn’t pleased with her plans, but he was mollified that she thought of him when she thought of base comfort. There were no layers she needed to keep on with him around. That was it’s own sort of reward. He guessed.

“Not tonight. It’s been a long week. Maybe tomorrow.” She put her feet on the ottoman and slid forward till she was at a weird 30 degree angle, neck wedged firmly on the couch’s backrest. “Besides, we’re all tiny balls of trauma anyway, just waiting to be triggered. That’s the saddest Friday night topic ever.”

He sighed, still disappointed.

“Alright, I’m picking the movie. And I am not sleeping on the floor. So you’re going to have to drag yourself…”

The doorbell rang, biting off what would have been a chunky yet unappetizing rant around his sleeping patterns and needs. Maeve glanced in the door’s general direction non-committally. He looked at her then followed her gaze. The doorbell rang again.

“Soooo, are you gonna get that?”

She shrugged.

What had she eaten anyway? Straight indica? Damn. Zombie.

“I’m gonna answer it.” He uncrossed his legs.

She was already back to her previous position; chin leaning on her sternum. She nodded. “But I’m not expecting anyone so you could also give it a rest and let whoever that is give us a rest too.”

But he was already up and moving *somewhat* purposefully towards the door.

The damn doorbell went off again.

“Ayy chill man, it’s been all of 14 seconds and you’re not Grubhub.”

Through the peephole was a man that couldn’t be much older than Eli was. Or maybe he could be 35. Age is such a trippy social construct anyway. He was looking a little sweaty (“she’s only three floors up and there’s an elevator, dumbass”), and he’d never seen the face before. He continued studying the face, unsure now.

“Hello? I can hear you breathing on the other side of the door. Maeve? Please. Open the door. Your dad gave me your address.”

Her dad? Maeve hadn’t spoken to her father for the better part of 15 years. And the man had been in jail for most of those years. Who was this dude? How did her dad know where she lived?

The apartment went quiet. She had hit the pause button on Netflix. Oh wait, she was also standing beside him. How had she got here so fast?

She looked through the peephole, familiar mask of studied indifference cloaking all her actions now. No look of recognition, no signs of surprise. He had moved out of her way, immediately, of course. She undid the lock and opened the door a crack, “You better not be a fucking reporter and he better have told you this address with his dying breath – What do you want?”

“My name is T. All other personal details are unimportant. But, when Marcus went to jail, we had an agreement. I’ve been playing mega millions everyday to fulfill that agreement.”

Sooo, not 35 either. Age, man.

“I had the winning numbers 2 weeks ago and I’ve been trying to find you ever since to give them to you.”

Maeve shut the door. Same mask on, no shock, no disbelief, nothing. She locked the door and walked back to the couch.

Eli staggered a step in her direction then turned back, taking a step towards the door. He was utterly flabbergasted. ” B-b-b-butt-t-t, hold up, Ayve. Hold up!” He ran in front of her, hands held out in front of him to slow her momentum, just in case she decided to keep moving and crashed into him. “Let’s think this through, now. There is a man – yes, a sketchy man with an initial for a name, but there is A MAN AT THE DOOR WHO IS TRYING TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE!”

What he did not say, and didn’t think he needed to, was that his life would change too, even if it was only through the happy coincidence of being her friend.

“Get out of my way, Eli. I already told you about my plans for this evening.”

Eli, surprisingly, did not budge. The possibilities for the millions ahead making him bold. “Just listen to what the nice, sketchy man has to say in full. That can’t hurt.”

Maeve was staring at him, unblinking. When she got this way, it was terrifying. You could never tell if she was planning your very detailed homicide, or if she was about to gift you a travel companion ticket to Kauai, like that one time last summer. #travelbestie.

She blinked, once. Slowly.

He moved out of her way. Quickly.

“Yep, you’re not in the mood right now. Totally get it. Plus the 2 5s, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll tell him to come back tomorrow, if he’s legit.” She shot him a sidelong look. “I’ll tell him to meet you … us”, another look, “at the coffee shop on the corner tomorrow morning.”

Netflix was already back on now and he was definitely talking to himself.

He half ran, half slid to the door, slowing down only enough to stop himself ramming into it. Only, now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he wanted T seeing his face or knowing his name. He said loudly, through the closed door, “thanks for stopping by! Please come by at 11 tomorrow morning. We’ll meet you at Cheaper by the Baker’s Dozen, then. It’s around the corner. Goodnight.”

He looked through the peephole to see if T had heard him. There was no one there. Could he have just dreamt up the last 10 minutes? Possibly. This was exactly the sort of thing that had his therapist telling him to lay off the recreational drugs.

He walked back to the couch in a daze. Maeve was staring half lidded at the latest episode of “Sex Education”. He dropped in a heap beside her, stretching his legs out on  the rug, eyes dead centre. He didn’t need any non-verbal cues telling him to STFU till the next morning. Damn, he should have picked up the PBRs from the fridge.

Prose et Poesie