Grace Enough

It's almost finished, I think. I might have read it too many times at this point, though. Please tell me what you think... if any parts seem weird or choppy.

Is there grace enough for me
in this wounded gleaming universe?
Am I too blind
to my own light to ever See?

Will these shadows, curtains ever fall
away?
And will we die
arise from ashes at the dawn's first light
and standing naked, embrace the day?

Which hand
which time, will stitch together every ache and seam:
which gesture?

Can all this gold within us glow?
We're just bounding through the galaxies.
And is it possible to know when we are streaming through molasses?
We tumbled headfirst into this World
caught by humans, loved and hated
we, these fragile human souls
dumb or brave or neither.


Oh fill me,
fill me with a greater love -
awareness, sight, and I dispense.

Teach me searing to feel again.
Tender aching joy begun
and filled with quiet miracles
of a raindrop
on a petal.

My Own Smell

I cannot help it.

I just love my own smell. I walk into my bedroom after a long day: me, snuggle into my blankets: me, nestle my face into the pillow: me.

Warm air coming in the window and ME ME ME ME MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

It's nice to have at least one thing constant when actual identities seem to be so transient these days.

You're a Rock Star Baby

In a bubblegum top with heavily bleached hair she stood facing the passers-by, among the cluster of wooden benches, still damp from the afternoon's rain, singing along to the portable radio. "There will be an answerrrr, let it bee-eeeee."

Her weather-worn friends, resting against the bicycle racks and benches, the entirety of their possessions in plastic bags at their feet, cheered her on as they tried to pass the bottles discreetly among themselves. And everyone else hurried on by, trying their hardest to appear as though they didn't notice this woman singing her heart out.

"You're a rock star, baby," the other woman cackled, taking a drag from her cigarette. And she was.

The Role of Precision

We had scheduled a group conference call for 11:00 this morning with some key players for a regional project I am working on. The conference call service sends you a toll-free number and a numerical code for that specific call. All parties dial in, enter the number, and ta-daa, you can chat!

So, 11:00 rolled around. I double-checked the email, picked up the handset to my phone, dialed the number, and found myself greeted by some fine instrumental music with a light beat. I waited for the operator to speak or for some sort of signal to enter the numerical code. Instead, a woman's heavy voice came in over the strains of what turned out to be erotic lounge music, "Hey there, sexy. You've reached my one-on-one..."

Yeah I didn’t wait to hear which type of service was described by the term “one-on-one.” Bwahaha... good thing I didn't have it on speakerphone!

A Secret

I will let you in on a secret about life.


We (humans, neighbors, friends, lovers) are all doing the best we can with what we've been given.

Smells Like Mole-asses

Sense of smell sometimes blows me away. You know how everyone has their own unique smell? A mixture of the shampoo, deodorant, and whatever other scented products they use, combined with a special fragrance which comes directly from them as a person - makes each of them smell their own special way.

I cannot help feeling so comforted by the smells of those I love and trust.

Some strangers have very nice smells too. Sometimes a person passes by me on the street and I get a surprisingly pleasant whoosh of THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD DUDE or a wave of SKINNY LITTLE ARTIST GIRL. I always feel like some sort of scent voyeur whenever I find myself really enjoying it. It feels like I am experiencing something private, intimate, without knowing anything else about them and without their permission. I try not to inhale too deeply.

What? It is July already??? We celebrate the end of another week, mourn the end of another month, celebrate the end of yet another year. That is life.

BUTTERFLIES GO FREE!!!