When I look up to the sky now And see the lines between the clouds, Fractal lines, giving each cloud its shape And identity, think for a moment I see them Colliding into one another soundlessly forming larger Clouds or departing From one another, Getting smaller And smaller, until I realize that larger cloud Is something else than the smaller, That each has its life and rhythm Up there in their static dance, That the rock I kick to my side, Or pick up and rub first because of its color, It caught my eye, but then because of its texture, The way it has patches of smooth like marble Speckled on the rough surface, Those pebbles we feel our feet form to When we step into the Colorado River, Drench ourselves in the needed frigid waters, That those rocks and pebbles are not from something larger, That the grain is not from pebble is not from rock is not from boulder Chipped away, that each thing here has no history, That it will not have a future, That it is what it is, unique, The way a rock is what it is, there and standing as itself alone When I feel its weight, its surprising surface, Almost like a bone thrown into the river, The bone of a man who never lived, In the palm of my hand and, After laughing at something you say To me and the crowd of new friends Gathering away from the perpetual blowdryer winds Of Needles, California in the summer, Throw it into the still glass of the river.
A human being-question chasing after both God and nothingness. The internet is a disaster, but our starlessness might teach us something. I welcome our constant experimenting with ourselves with open arms, for ultimately they are attempts of life at living and growing in life. My dwelling is in Key West, while the dwellings of my loves are Indiana, New Mexico, Texas, Massachusetts and Arizona. These spaces are nothing. Love abides and love embraces.
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