Recoil

My mind is full of thoughts
That are strung tight like steel wires
And I know I have to think each thought
Cut each wire
So I can move on to the next
And not get stuck behind one
Forever

Some wires I can cut cleanly
But sometimes one takes hours of sawing
Days or weeks
And when I finally sever it
And take the first step forward in triumph

The loose wire snaps back
From both of the force of the cut
And its own momentum
Biting into my flesh

Knocking me back
50 feet

Hulk/hulk

When you're tied to railroad tracks
The only way out is to undo one knot at a time 
When you hear the train's whistle
It's understandable to be in a bit of a hurry

But you've only got two hands
And if you try and untie too many knots too fast
Or burst your bonds like the Incredible Hulk
You'll likely find the whistle growing louder
And yourself no closer to rolling off

One knot at a time
Even when you're sure you're completely out of time
Even when the knots grow back
And cover you like vines

Even when you reach the last knot
And find steel jaws bolting you down
Underneath

Then it's one screw at a time
Until you find you've been
Rooted to the earth
By an incantation
All along

When you finally break the spell
Not only do you roll away
In the very nick of time

But when you stand up
You find yourself
Shrugging off the dirt at last

And melting the moving train
Into a hulk of smoldering steel
With the beams of light from your eyes

Wind

The wind can save your life
If you clue in
It’s telling you something
When you’re at peace enough
To listen

You find its rhythm for a minute
Or two
And can begin to predict
When it will next move through the leaves
Of the tree in your yard
How many degrees the branches will tilt
And yield in their dance

But then it blows a fraction of a second
Before you knew it was returning
The rhythm changes
The branches alter their dip

You breathe out
And wonder how it’s possible for the mind
To know such chaos yesterday
And such peace tonight

Harvest Moon

It’s tough to describe
What makes
Some thoughts tolerable
And others not

If you think of a gun to your head
That’s frightening
And exhausting
Not an image a human being
Ought to be spending a lot of time with
In bed

But if for some reason Neil Young’s song
Harvest Moon
Is playing in your mind

‘Cause I’m still in love with you
I wanna see you dance again
Cause I’m still in love with you
On this harvest moon’

While at the same time
You see a gun pressed up
Against your temple

That’s when it gets close to unbearable
Because the song is the hand on the gun
And the peaceful lyrics
Are the finger on the trigger

I find in life
It’s never the one thing
It’s the way one thing rubs up
Against another

None of this is Neil Young’s fault
So I hope his fans
Will forgive me
If tonight
I smash his guitar
Usher him out the door
So someone else can come in
And play a song
Which puts the safety
Back on the weapon

Traveller

When your brain fits into one of the fringe categories
Not neurotypical
Diagnostic criteria met
Following adjustments advised

You can try and listen to some of it
Mellow out
Level off
Stay in the middle

And it’s usually well-intentioned
From people who want you
With grandchildren in your 70s
The peace of a long life
Well lived

And believe me
That’s pretty great I imagine
So if that’s where you are
Enjoy it!

But if you’re pulled in another direction
By what you see
By how you hear
By why you are

If the patterns in your thoughts
Are grooves like rivers
And you want to touch the bottom
Come hell and high water

If your ears are open
To a perfect note
A melody of truth
A joy with no bounds

That’s hard to turn down
Even if some of the waters you dive
Yield no treasure

And instead
Arms of moss
Lichen
Or something worse
Curl around
To drag you down
To a depth from which
No oxygen tank rescue
Is possible

Dive anyway
Because in my experience
The perfect notes
Come after the Leviathan
Not before

And the rescue comes
From something
Less material
Than a tank
Or even oxygen

This road of sweetest sounds
And sea monsters
All together
Winds and breathes
With a purpose that is its own

And often feels illusory
Leaving the traveller in despair
At all the forks he could have taken
Back to the straight road
And its comfort
Its stop signs

But if you’re that kind of traveller
It’s unlikely the straight road
Would have held you for long again
So it’s best to keep moving
And not mind too much
If you’re blessed or cursed

Nighttime

Some people do it all at once
Junk it
Change the locks
Cold turkey

Others have to do it slowly
Over months
Or years

Realizing
The hurt came from
Somewhere outside
Is not intrinsic

Although the structure collapsed
The earth underneath
Has not rotted

And can be tilled
With gentle hands
Into something new

Leviathan

You can write about
Joy
Terror or Fear
Anger or Hate

I don’t find it hard at least
There can be something noble
In all of these

Who hasn’t feared the dark
And striven against it?

Who hasn’t hated evil
And sworn to stand against it?

Joy
Is what happens
When for a time those things recede
And we glimpse the upper spheres
What we were meant for

These I can touch
Plumb
Meld into verse
Understanding something of their place
In the grand design

For me
The black core
The place with no exit
Leviathan
Is Shame

It has swelled up in me at times
And cut me off from all my strength
From art
From love
From the soul
From myself

If I can grasp something of it
And place it alongside all the rest
Then perhaps the devil’s trick can fade
And the songs of the great story
Will unfurl in the stars