a few things you need to knowCross body leads and the roar of wheels ona few things you need to know by scatteredwords
pavement, there is no cure for the lust of wanderers.
No special words or spells that will snap them out
of this frenzied ferry across highway and skyway.
Motionlessness increases the need to move,
moving increases the need to move;
I move because it keeps me stable,
because it tests each bit of knowledge
that I know to be true.
Because staying leaves me confused and
wanting does not stop the ocean tides.
I don't know how to stay still, even when
I'm buckled in and out of control my
foot moves in time keeping up
with the passing miles. I still
let sunrise tantalize my eyes from the
back of an old dusty pickup
wanting to chase the fading stars
till I fall over the edge of the earth
waking when I feel the warmth on my face.
He doesn't understand this.
He is the one who built a house out of jasmine
because he knows it's my favorite flower-he
hoped it would convince me to stay.
He is the one who supplies the dark of my mind
with that glowing spot
MapsRed and blue and green and black veins stretchMaps by BeyondJen
across pages, spider-webbing out across expanses,
across golden fields, green pastures,
and evergreen blanketed hillsides
that reach towards mountain tops.
The cardinal nor the rose can claim us.
We are more free than these boundaries insist upon,
free to break through their dashed lines;
it's all just an illusion, like so much else
between destinations and dreams.
We speak of wants and desires so freely
until we submit to being folded into creases,
never neatly, and always with a struggle
to open up and expand beyond outstretched arms.
Our seams will never touch like this, never flourish
into roots of family trees in gardens of our choosing.
I wish the wind would whisk us away on clear currents,
and toss us to fate and chance; hardships be damned!
Why do we never take our chances one step further,
testing the strength of our confines?
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
BirdtalkI know that the Starman will be waiting in the sky, butBirdtalk by Bark
I don't think about it under these fluorescent lights
I remember when Wal-Mart wasn't a hospital, the world
wasn't a graveyard, and my spine wasn't ripped out
Didn't the birds used to talk? I seem to remember that
At the Ritz PlayhouseAt the Ritz Playhouse by RichardLeach
Something is going to happen, though the theater
is not like the picture. The velvet seats are tired,
and torn in a place or two. The nose says mildew
and everything says age. Yet there is a stage.
There is a curtain and something will happen
when it rises. We know more or less what we will see:
a few men and women, some of whose daily roles
are insurance agent, lawyer, speech therapist,
will act in a play the insurance agent directed.
Sometimes the play is tired. It will not be new.
Yet all will do their best, and together they
will make something happen. Some have done so
for thirty-nine years. We do not expect
to be transported. We will be right here.
Yet something will happen. The curtain rises.
This is my life—
the pros and cons,
the ups and downs,
I stumbled on
this article when Googling whether a new medication I was taking could make me hypomanic. Was I symptomatic last night? Or was I simply talking and having a good time?
If you have the inclination, it's worth a read. It’s about more than what it seems—it’s about how we, as humans, need to categorize and label things so we can comprehend and therefore deal with them. How we push round pegs into square holes whether or not they fit (although, sometimes, they do).
The article is on the long side, so don’t feel bad if you don’t want to plow through it. Of course.
I thought I was an individual. But I’m just the flavor of the month.
And for lighter fare, check out:
Clients from Hell,
which is really, really funny—unless you are in the graphic arts business.