you are a ship

these feelings

of being stuck

seem to be unbearable–

it’s all connected



not me

what is me?


it’s sitting under a tree,

maybe sipping some tea,

not minding the clouds

just letting all flow naturally–


that’s me.

sitting in the shade,

not letting the day fade

you are here for one hour,

one year, one day at a time

in your mind

now you, my dear,

are a ship

and this house, my dear,

is your anchor.

you can sail freely,

without ever loosing your capacity

to come home.


October 23, 2016


I hear a knock

from the cellar

and call on Ego

to answer the door:

“Money for the poor?”

a young man ponders,

“What am I doing here?”

and the door is shut,

hands still warm.


I can handle

up to six hundred dollars

at a time,

enough for rent,

some shoes,

wine if I have the time

but where will my children

find a place to eat

under piles of sand and coal,

will Ego have their backs as well

to protect them

from further turmoil?


Will our children

sit separate

from the meal or the plate,

voters at stake,

presidents too late

with their old boxes

and used rhymes,

’cause no one should lie

when they’ve got no time

to solve old Blackbeard’s problems–

go turn them on themselves,

though, and they’d all go runnin.


Perhaps off to Ego,

now waiting at the door–

always on watch

as a good man should

he was told, “Boys will be boys,”

and he said, “Shuck yeah,

that’s fine,” so he smoked up

slow and stared on.


November 25, 2015


How hard it is

to live with Ego.


Now that I’ve not only see his face

I’ve heard his voice

I’ve listened to his song–

he doesn’t need to sing any longer.


And yet

how do I tell the stomach below me

to stop clenching like a fist

as my sister is hit on at the bar,

three times I stand on, passerby

and boy number two reassuringly states,

“You’re okay, but she’s…”

Knowing your standards

and having them met by those around you

are two entirely different things.


I brush my teeth,

one tooth at a time

like a child

I take my time

to remember that time is not real

only “now” is “real”

how “real” is “I”?


I’ve learned I have to stop taking myself

so seriously

when the term “myself,”

has already been exhausted by society;

no need for me to spin it round.


It plays games with Ego

spinning round like a top

at least I now know to slow down.


I need to slow down.


We need,

fellow love-torn-patience-worn-thin-



to slow down.


July 11, 2015