Where Was I Going

I looked high up

and saw a sky,

maybe a marking

but it was blue, and grey

possibly clouds

or not

or whatnot

filled with scribbled letters

and soft rice

that looked like an eye

but it really was the sun

gold and yellow

staring right down on me

blinding me

in a forest of fresh bamboo

green bamboo in every direction

wild and tall bamboo

with a blank map

in front of me

and one day

I’ll wake up

not from the sun,

but from the moon

because who knows

trees like to lose their leaves


and its not like a red banner

hangs behind me

but in front

like blocks of concrete

soft like rice, wrapped in paper

just in time to finish

a warm meal

that was obviously cold

but warm at heart

and now I am alone

but never alone

walking down a street

of people looking down on me

arms resting outside

their confused windows

and the world tells me

no, it shouts

and whispers

who I am

or who I should be

even though

I’m none of those things

I’m me


the undefinable definable

and definable undefinable

and though I chew on bamboo

I don’t care

because it’s going to rain soon

and I could use the time

to face my fears


whatever you call it

no one likes rain in the cold

but I do

when I’m not listening

to the world

or the map

or me.


Open Your Eyes

There is a place of slumber

a music beyond all of us


and washed

into a spiraling well

one of hopes and dreams

made of stone blocks

before our time

and for the love of all peace

we are far from it

but awake

in the night

of our intriguing soul

that beckons us

and quenches

the thirsty mountains


in the mist and white fog

and we are but small shadows

looking up into the blue horizon

where the sun exists

though we do not see it

where the sun loves us

and do not feel it

but we know

it is there

for we have waited for it

we sat down on mossy grass

and told stories

and tales

sharing laughter

then somber silence

in that unbreakable meeting

quieting our thoughts

for in us

we see the threads unravel

and people

sailing far and wide

into a distant memory

where all we hold

is the moon

in our sleep

a nostalgic self carries us

and we do not ask questions

nor why it matters

that moon is in shards

distorted beautifully

on water


and we look down to ourselves

to see what we once were

and guess

what we are to be

for to dream dreams is a dream

and living life is the reality

or so

we say to ourselves

in the waking life.