netpositive: (firehand)
Please tell why, do we build castles in the sky,
Oh tell me why, all the castles way up high--

Ian Van Dahl
    Is dreaming just a butterfly, or
    just a sticky grey cocoon we spin and break open?

    If I dream of being in Kansas City, and
    not being able to find the rental car
    that I need to return to the airport
    so that I can get back home --

    (crows and chickadees chattering in the trees
    and one lone goose, laden, honking north)


    if I dream of lying side by side on the grass
    with my favorite collaborator at work, gazing
    up at the stars but knowing now (in hindsight)
    they'll never let us build that ship together --

    (a thousand seagulls clustered cold on a wire T,
    with heavy mists coming in from the south river)


    if I dream of Wodehousian young men in spats,
    dancing in line, twirling gold and silver pocketwatches --

    (the younger cardinal just bounced off a branch
    sending a yellowed maple leaf to the bare ground,
    as the soft eastern rays start to be cut off)


    if I dream of being with my back to the wall --

    (I never got to sit still in the side yard
    all spring or summer long. And this one time
    I'm trying to, well, even here I can't sit for
    an hour without being disturbed by a life
    that I didn't ask for. That isn't mine.)


    I know who the wide-eyed boy at the dance
    with the smile and bright copper hair was.
    And I also have some suspicions of that
    wary would-be mentor with the biker tattoos.

    But why Kansas City?


    Dear Tir-na Nog'th, aka Unconscious,

    Sorry there's so much on (y)our plate(s)
    right now -- hazards of spatial dislocation.
    Could you please tell me the color of the car
    next time? You know I'm looking hard for it.

    Forever yours in Amber,
    Conscious
... the circumstances of your life
reveal who you are, not
what has happened to you.

Circumstances do not make you
unless you think yourself down to them.

Iyanla Vanzant
netpositive: (iconnerific)
The coincidence of a vague physical resemblance
followed by an accidental but absolute audio replica
brings up a vibrant ghost from the past...
    Sometimes,
    I close my eyes,
    and I just hear your voice.

    Frightening,
    the power of sound,
    after all this time apart.

    I could never explain to others
    how so many of your questions got answers,
    how the simplest of words complicated everything.

    Repeating
    the vowels in your last name,
    I know nothing has changed except the calendar.

    Pain may drain away.
    But anger - and hunger - stay.

    I paid.
    Still, I do regret
    not always doing right by you.

    Sometimes,
    I close my eyes,
    and I just hear your voice.

    Every night,
    I close my eyes.

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netpositive

February 2013

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