accidentally cut my pericardium meridian, badly, august 2003

my heart
beat differently
in the days after

what I tore open
became
an instructive gash
fractal of love

before that sudden cut
I had wandered
always in fire
and no true heart
caressed my blood
that was the season

of my barren heart

now
an injury
I don’t know how

brought me water

now dreams could gel
into form’s fullness

dreams of
the zinnia’s stout mandala
the loon’s flutter-call
the hurricane’s ordered power
the butterfly’s punctuation
of air
the tree’s sidewalk-splitting growth

dreams of
the porcupine’s infective spines
the vulture’s telling circles
the mud’s layer of slime
the flies’ ecstatic swarming
of dog shit
the landfill’s long methane fart

How am I
to lay my treasure
at this world’s feet?

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after receiving acupuncture for my lung

I.

I wake from a dream
buying gerbera daisies
to place in a vase
the dream has convinced me I own—

since I’ve moved
I no longer know where anything hides
in the heavy, cluttered boxes
crowding closets

perpetual loss, that’s what fills those boxes
and I resent my partner
for pulling me here
and that reminds me

with a sudden catch of breath, how

very soon after
I was born
all the beauty I had ever known
faded

into endless, sterile white

I catch glimpses
now and then
of the place that came before—
yesterday—

when the needle punctured the skin
where that toe meets my sole

“For your lungs,” the healer said
and indeed, in an instant waking dream
floated
the filigree coral
suffused with softest red
of my lung
nothing less than

life’s tenuous perfection

and now the morning of the vase, here and then gone,
tells me that held in the pulse of air and blood

is a lace of remembrance

my first days here
the shock and grief
of the move—

my grief, which has been so precious to me,
for its waters
could anytime have been my river back,
back to the place before—
through drowning
in phlegm’s embrace
I would have gone many times
gladly, gladly

I would have gone
gladly, gladly

had not some faint sound
pulled me
the other way

I still do not understand that direction
all I know is—
ahead of me
the river now has shores

II.

shores of shimmering sound
embankments of my heart
reason to stay

I don’t remember sound
in that other place
not quite like ours, anyway

I was ready to play, I was ready
to throb

making progress… up to page 19 in my blog post list

Since posting last, I’ve fixed somewhere between 80 and 90 posts! I’ve got roughly another 95 to go before maintenance mode is complete.

I’m writing at the moment with a feeling of apprehension I sometimes get under heavily climate-engineered skies. Earlier today, as I watched the newly laid trails spreading, Accuweather.com claimed a sunny day ahead. Sure thing, if you’re up above the aerosol layer! From here on the ground, there’s only a whited-out sky to be seen. Not a natural cloud in sight, or the fabled New Mexico sun. See www.geoengineeringwatch.org for more info.

evening

winter-20248_640

stillness after snow
even here, where there’s no noise
weight has its own sound

Photo: See it at Pixabay here.

***************************

I love real weather—it’s looks, its feels, it’s smells. I am hopeful that we can preserve real weather on our planet, which is why I invite you to visit www.geoengineeringwatch.org.

suspect

my eye caught, I turn—
horse staring, its friends behind
all creatures alert

*************************

Because of my concern over geoengineering, I sound an “all creatures alert” at this blog almost daily. If you are interested in knowing what’s concerning me, please visit www.geoengineeringwatch.org.