create.

there are evenings, soft and smooth
that speak to a will inside
create. build. think. prosper.
these are half-truths
cushioned in soft encouragement
what you are will bloom to the surface
if only you allow nothing but spring
to seed in your mind

then there are glorious nights
coarse and vulgar. rough and ready.
nights of darkness and fear
where there is a raw and bubbling urge to
procrastinate. lie. destroy. fail.
perfect and real failure.

my father told me once
once, when speaking was in season,
that I was a far cry from failure,
yet I have been living on its front stoop

recession has hit dreams the hardest.
I think, we feel, you know.
create.

Dirt

I don't know God personally
Let me quantify, qualify, categorize
That statement

There are times
Seconds, minutes, years flying by
When a bird, imagine a bird
Any bird
Flutters its feathers
Ruffles its wings
Now pause and zoom
There is a John Hancock there
A beautiful artist's signature
In the corner

Imagine now that bird captured
Cage, photograph
Tradition, institution
Who cares what the bars are?
Recreation, falsification
A pathetic forgery of the signature
We all know is hidden somewhere
Somewhere we have forgotten
No map, No "x,"
No dirt brown tour guide with papaya and machete

A bird is flying in the jungle
The answer tied to its smallest feather

If
If that feather, that answer
Is hastily scribbled
Is luxuriously scrawled
Across both souls and dirt
Mind and matter

And I know dirt and its alter egos
Grime, dust, sin
Then, I must know the soul

The whole universe pulses
As we slowly try to
Thaw
Our brains in truth
Like stepping from a cold room
Into sunlight

I have fallen in love with the
Mysterious signer