polish my petal pushers and crack my baloney

to determine the tide and time of it all.
but part wants to say there is no direction

no convoluted exigency
embellished in withdrawal
through depravity and angst

starlight tells little
of the sky they occupy
names owned
tell more of the namers…..

the thing itself a particle of speculation

how to proceed?
with caution, with care
with abandon, with indiscriminate address

following the process, not the processors
–owning the nature of portents
and the downside of countless hills

do you see yourself when you awaken?
or is the day mostly within …

i believe life is more than waxing
to the wane

i think it’s about knowing how most would stop
therefore you continue onward

i think it’s about seeking approval and not needing approval at the same time

there’s no reason to fear your own thoughts
eventually they silence

nobody understands how fast a decision is made
how long it takes to say i’m sorry
how quickly a garden grows when you are not watching

nobody knows why it’s better to say “what can you do?”
than admit that you can do nothing

the best words are never spoken

highlights of a confluence
embarkment of a consecration
deliverance belongs to the end of time
but the end of time belongs only to oblivion

try as i might
my eyelids fall and i wish for peace
before rest
knowing it is my wont to scurry and worry
to pace and pounce and proclaim … before i find
myself once again

looking at my toes and thinking
numb is only a difference

part of me never understood cruelty
never saw where the stalker arrived
swelled and burst
intonations

the mirror is a beast
but rather — what a mirror becomes
soughs and sighs
partners and pilgrimage

no dusting is complete without a tear for infamy
i was ruled by nothing overtly familiar
though coldly alert

time and tenacity and telescoping perpetuity
…dawn was mastered

now i want to see how far it is to remembering where i left
the last dance that broke time
and made me deathly ill over death and its equality
to anything mistreated

birthed …. from a right and distracted somnolence
sprouted out of gripping the outskirts of a spin
to balance neatly on ruffles

at the center of every norm.

breathing the one thing no breath can repeat
offering no sacrifice but the present in all its awkwardness

resilience proceeds with caution and verve
moves with stupid and wisdom and delight
no amount of hope can halt redacted controversy
gloaming and gristing
the day looks up and ahead there is light
and warmth and laughter
ready to meet the more favored
of copious tears

stumbling onward
i am no more seen than a ghost
no more necessary than the last envelope

holding a final letter that is not meant for silence …
but for screams

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delaying the up, down, for one sideways

to me, the library is like heaven.
there’s a hushed reverence when you enter,

the lighting is good,
you slow down almost instinctively, to explore.

it is not a through street, but a dead end
that is eternally alive with thought.

a librarian comes up to you and with a Soft voice,
will ask if they can help you find something?

get this — and it will blow your Mind — the librarian listens!
these wonderful beings actually help struggling humans find answers.

hospitals, however, are patterned after hell–
the waiting room is the EXACT same concept as purgatory;

(how could anybody miss that?) everybody hangs about
in an uncomfortable place to determine if they will be

admitted to hell. there is no slowing down; on
the contrary, every person in a hospital

is wound-up, agitated, and rushed. you feel
insignificant, forgotten, and for some reason

find yourself pining to be more sick and injured
than reality would suggest, only for the sake of

getting things over-with. there are screams and
strobing lights, as you take your entrance

exam for hell, trying to concentrate on filling out
forms; including one where the print remains so tiny,

nobody bothers to read it as they sign away their soul,
to be yet another body thrown to the eternal flames. at some point

somebody will always say, “we’re going to take good care of you!”
and then they proceed to do everything

that is the opposite to “care” and “good.”
it’s a law, and all hospitals must do this.

i think hell has the same rule,
though have heard purgatory manages to remain less crowded.

so maybe libraries should be the waiting room
for hospitals. or maybe operating rooms should be

inside of libraries? i just know that the best
way to stay out of hell is to not go there.

and i would prefer to see heaven before i die,
i really would…

always seemed like a good idea to avoid the bad in life,
it only hurts when you don’t dream.

and the easiest way to find heaven
is to wander down to your local library–

breathe in a book or two–
let wonder dissect freedom

until no master remains; and every thought that chimed true
holds death in the distance, dim recollection folding into shards

of grey matter freely multiplying externally to any black and white
(the boom and the harvest), true betterment deserves a battered hell;

life and exigency, never parted.
how does reason devise one reason to be simple?

simplicity itself lives in a graveyard, but i have marked every passage
while the world tempered only itself,

deciding Time was something that crumbles as if only idiots breathe;
that eternity should fade and subtract itself from infinity;

that Love has no equal and no opposite –no completeness.
the pain of each second will stop everything
and remember nothing … at least once.

heaven and hell are things that man makes, but what
lives after death is the sigh of forgiveness

…maybe the hope of truth that sees to better ends.

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dancing boots that hit the town

i don’t think a wrong turn is a wrong turn.

if something doesn’t work out,
the choice to go there is neither wrong or right.

it might have been wrong for you,
or wrong for the time.

you try on shoes
before find the right ones to fit–

choices are like that.

have you ever dug in storage and found
a very old pair of shoes or boots?

they were crusty and old and cracking,
i tried to put my foot into them.

after all, at one time these were my favorites…
the memories!

and i couldn’t even squeeze them on.
the leather was too old and stiff

, my arch was too high,
the buckle was rusted…
there was no way i was going to be able
to step into these boots again.

a sadness rolled over me, a contemplation on
how time was something no impossibility could recapture,

and choices from the past might have worked
for that era–that place

–but now they simply don’t fit.

i find there is no sense arguing with a shoe that doesn’t fit.

those old boots i pulled out of storage,
were not a wrong direction–

but i had to admit that i can’t wear them now.

they served their purpose. they had their time.
and in the same way, my choices have served their purpose;
even bad directions might come to a good end.
and i think that is what faith is about…

we all know what a bad decision is like
–how to warn others.

but sometimes the greatest love
is letting someone make their own mistakes.

that too, is a choice,
but it’s also a forgiveness

; a way of looking back… to
let time have its tale and clomp around in the dancing boots,
nothing better than a smile; even
a wistful one.

choice a thing we don’t appreciate when it
is alive–rocking on the balls of your feet,
the tantalizing notes
of the unknown.

i was not perfect, but i was perfectly amazed,

kicking up the dust on
this particular stretch of eternity
only i occupy, that one soul
occupies with aplomb…

choice is every strength of wisdom,
set free.

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don’t push me over that ledge i know how to jump!

i almost can’t stand the degree of sweating
and for everyone’s information, this is drug withdrawal
that’s what it is
i don’t care about what other names you give it…

i’ve been through drug withdrawal before, and this
is drug withdrawal

which puts things in a whole new perspective
they call them hormones, but what it really is
is a little drug maker in your own body
and this mini-drug maker either puts
the drug it produces right into the bloodstream
or through a duct — just like some drugs have
to be injected to work

and so this drug that the body
basically poisons itself with — starts going
when a kid reaches a certain age
and this drug effects all kinds of things
including mood and temperament …probably
contributes to all the warm fuzzy feelings
when you contemplate buying a new purse

then 40 some odd years later
the body goes gee, we don’t need this
anymore … and you get to go through withdrawal
because that’s what this is
sweating buckets

humans give things different names and that
is supposed to somehow make things different
but this is a drug withdrawal
estrogen is like meth or heroin or coke
it goes away and you are left strung out,
debating whether you should get some more
of the estrogen drug from your doctor…

and i wonder what life will be like
once off the crutch of the estrogen drug
there should be some kind of antidote
what really bites is to have been a good citizen
all these years of not even smoking pot
and here i am having to go through a drug withdrawal

i swear i was left so unprepared for the world
just thrown at it
and told “good luck!”

at least taught myself how to tie my own shoes
and how to change oil in a car
i crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s
soon as i figured out how to use a pen

no worries
this too shall pass
she told me that much

wish the world was a lot more simple
on simple days with simple perspectives
but at least i’m not bored

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the draw of better circumstances

my grandmother always thought that winning a large sum of money was the answer

but the answer to what?

two facets to that — power, that money could bring

or goods and services that money could buy

and since i am my mother’s daughter

why don’t i have this same outlook or hope or reasoning?

well, a different time with different messages, is one

songs, and movies, and media that all put forth the idea that money cannot buy happiness

so there is that — and one can assume that before such ideas took root

the general consensus was that money was necessary for happiness and that more money simply meant more happiness

there is also the factor that with a “middle class” — there is a greater social mixing of rich and poor

and this gives the poor a chance to observe just how “happy” the rich appear to BE

ok …. but if you have a thinking, reasoning person that just wants to win the ‘big one’

(which in my mind is the bone thrown to the masses to keep them wishing and also to keep them in a sort of reverence for those with more money)

when the fact of the matter IS

that you have to first learn TO MAKE DO

to live with what you have and be thankful for that

because of course — don’t believe i have to state this outloud — the path to happiness is thankfulness and gratitude, not money

i have lived with an ingratitude within myself. and those were the hard times of my life. not now. those were the times when i had more money to spend and more things, even a purchased home.

but what was constantly on my mind? how to get a bigger home. how to get a better home in a better neighborhood.

how to RAiSE myself in status, because in my mind, the reason all those people in the lutheran church did not respect me, was because i had no wealth

in my mind — the reason the wealthier kids did not want to come to MY house to play, was because my house was poor with exposed plumbing under the sinks and no wall to wall carpeting.

the misery was so extreme, that i attempted suicide a few times. i generally don’t admit to that, but there you go.

now grandmother’s reasoning behind entering the publishing clearing house sweepstakes and others of that kind, was she would say “well it will do me just as much good as anyone else.”

which is interesting, now that i think of it.

and i would of course calculate the odds and write it off as a fool’s dream

or an unnecessary dream that only stands in the way of appreciating what you already have, and therefore realizing the true happiness of gratitude and thankfulness.

so i don’t think about the possibility. though i’m sure if i wished on it hard enough, it would land in my lap.

and i’m actually more frightened of that possibility, than the work to make do with what you have.

even if i enter into a contest, like gambling in las vegas — i have to have in my mind that all that i deserve is to lose every penny. and therefore, i do. but also it gives me a chance to investigate if winning anything is possible without the WISH to win.

so there was that. i played with the notions. it did seem fairly consistent, that the more i needed to win anything, because i couldn’t afford to be gambling the money i gambled — then the more i ended up losing it. and the more i entered into any gambling event with the sense of “who cares?” then the greater chance there was of winning. and i don’t know how to apply any explanation for that.

though there is the fact that when gambling “to win” — then no amount of “small” win is enough. in fact, i could say that no amount of any win, is enough. all the money in the world could not slake that thirst, because there is something else beyond the money that is hoped-for. ???

and when not caring about a win or lose situation, then even a small win at a slot machine can be a memorable fun surprise — rather than a disappointment. it is the gratitude that makes that event “happy.”

so…….. not sure where i’m going with this. mainly, i don’t think a grand amount of money is the answer to any prayer of mine. because i know i can calculate how much to save and when i would arrive at that mount and “have” it, regardless of any “grace” placed upon me to be granted a large sum of money.

i know i could work again … enter back into the rat race and earn more and buy a house and go the whole distance.

but i dropped out of it in the first place for a reason

i was not happy

and when not happy threatens existence, to where you won’t have to worry any more about money because you’ll be dead …. well, it turns all your priorities on end.

you get placed in a box away from sunshine — and you realize that you now appreciate the sunshine MORE. you have your freedom removed — and you realize each day you wake up where life is about YOUR choice, then that is a good day.

and i don’t wish for great amounts of money. at one point, when i came to salt lake and became “aware” of just how much family land and legacy existed. and for a few days i entertained the thought that i was a very wealthy woman, and just didn’t know it.

i remember walking in the avenues of salt lake city … thinking. and thinking. and realizing there was nothing that i needed money FOR. what would i do with it? buy a house? but then i would hunger for a bigger house. have servants? but then how would i ever learn the most efficient ways of running a household? it just all fell down … one thing after another that i imagined.

even with a strong likelihood that i had ‘all’ the money in the world … nothing surfaced that gave me any joy or any reason to believe that it would make life any better than it was right at that very moment.

when i was walking in the avenues on a nice spring day — and exploring streets i’ve never seen before. for years after that, i would have dreams of the strange appearance of stairs in a sidewalk or the twisted turnings of one path leading to another.

it was a spot where i took that question of wealth, and buried it. same as i took the question of love, and buried it in the sand of oxnard shores.

i think that life has its bare minimum. like if i broke my coffee mug, then i would seek to replace it as soon as possible. or if i lost my living space, i of course would look to secure something again as soon as possible.

but beyond that — i think that gratifying the hunger for money, only increases the hunger for money. there really is no way around that. one can set higher standards for the “bare minimum” required to live — but that’s about it.

and being the practical person i am, i gravitated to whatever i decided took less upkeep. i’m not even sure about those choices, but thing is i have a hard enough time as it is. i have absolutely no idea how i would have continued onward with a marriage and a full house to keep up and maintain. i don’t see any way that would have not ground me into the ground until i was screaming for release.

so life is not too complicated for me. i own my own time, and spend it where i think it will do the most good. physically i’m pretty bad off, and a lot of that is due to medications i take to make OTHERS feel better about my “mental illness.” i’m not quite sure how to get around that. i understand that i am barely tolerable, even with the medications.

i have to move slower to be seen. that’s what they do. but it leaves me with all this musculature that is not used how it should be used. and over the years i have not been able to find one sport that worked everything to its best. would only create imbalances. though swimming came close. swimming was actually a good answer. but the threat of infection from bacteria in common pools had to rule that out for me.

i am like a sponge .. the buggies love me. so i take medication to slow it all down, and hope that simply going on walks is enough to keep my motor running.

i could think that i need to buy a house with my own pool. i’ve thought about that. i did the math on how much saving it would take. concluded that it was not worth the deprivation.

so here i am … in the best of all possible worlds.

if i decided i needed to win a large sum of money to make it better than best, then i’m not sure what that could even be, see?

i need to save money to move to arizona — mainly because the senior centers have pools for water aerobics, and i might get a chance to keep my body going a bit longer than it otherwise would. swimming pools in that kind of climate have much less chance for bacteria growth.

with standing water here, you get a result like the salt lake. even the river and streams have a “marshy” hue to them. oh well….

money isn’t really going to fix any of that. and i need to save money for a move to arizona. but it’s the “saving” part that i need most. the willingness to save for a goal, that’s one thing i’ve kind of avoided.

and it’s a skill or willingness to put off gratification for an aim of some kind. only excuse if have, is that i learned very early that you could walk out your door one day and be dead. so long-term planning was really not something i ever worked to perfect.

and lots of money dumped in my lap never seemed like the right way to go. grandmother always wanted to win those sweepstakes. but she never did. i think she just pretended wanting to win –to throw me harder in the other direction. the woman was a genius at reverse psychology.