that's mrs. mediocrity to you

in a world of too much and

never enough

and tiny lives

bleeding hearts

doors that open

before they close

window views and

widow’s walks

and the quiet violence

of bloom

.

.

.

there are always hurdles

hurts and
mountains

sharp edges

jagged rock

there is always sky
to fall into

caves to cower in

roads that lead
in the opposite direction

but
only one route
is yours

to follow

.

.

.

and you are the miracle

every day

each breath

crystallized

into sky

and

molten

remembrance

.

.

.

rising high from a red bed of thorns
on a morning dressed in grey before dawn

and this is all there is

i stand to one side
worn and torn and still exuberant

breathing in the chill of tomorrow
as today twines up bare ankles

remembering to live

.

.

.

as i swim through center
muddy toes, bony fingers, brittle bones

i will not drown and the sky keeps changing

clouds of starlings dance in pulse and parody
and i smile at the futility of standing

.

float and eddy
swirl and bend
let go let go let go

.

it’s all happening

.

.

.

.

even the stars
were off kilter
last night
orion laying low
on the horizon
the southern cross
trying to kiss
cassiopeia
.
my feet were on the ground
but my heart kept floating
.
ursa major
poised to capture
every tear
.

.

.

.

i search for beauty in the bones of every skeleton

architecture is the art of building frames

i thought i was a writer once, then i became human

the sky is a cage built for starlings

i am the ghost of my grandmother, re-contrived

.

all the leaves have fallen now and the wind has moved on

we stand naked in the weak winter sunshine,

refusing the invitation to bend

.

.

.

.

the night

i showed you
the shape
of insanity

you called me a liar
and a thief

screaming your colorful
banshee derision and demanding
the return of your soul

i had no way
to make you understand

i’d given up my science
for you

walked away from theory
and formula

left behind explanation
and conclusion

i wanted to show you
my passion

i wanted to offer
my heart

i wanted to light
the darkness
with new stars

and share the pattern
love makes
as it races
through the night
from you
to me

but you
were unable
to see

.

.

.

Hippolyte Baraduc (1850–1909) was a French physician and parapsychologist. He believed that the soul could be captured with a camera, and made the capture of those images his life’s work.

Today I am honored to be hosting over at dVerse Poets with a prompt to write as a member of the opposite gender (hope you’ll join us!). I chose to be Hippolyte in love, where none of those pictures could ever be enough.

Photo (entitled The Signature of Mental Sadness) from Baraduc’s book The Human Soul, Its Movements, Its Lights, and the Iconography of the Fluidic Invisible.

And happy to be there, settling in finally, after all these years.

You have to know your limitations and work them
into the fabric of your life.

Pick them apart and darn them back together.

You have to go in circles to get to the center.

All of life is only ever held together by a thread anyway,
no matter how much you want to think otherwise.

It’s a trap you construct to keep yourself alive,
even if you must begin anew each day.

You do it because survival is a never-ending puzzle,
a labyrinth, a fibonacci dream,
and you are always listening
for the sound beneath the sea.

You do it because everything beautiful
is woven of dark’s lightest threads and
every negative space holds eternity.

You do it because you’re thirsty,
and even dew on the edge of a crooked-silver web
will sustain you.

.

.

.

because even the light can trap you if morning
comes too soon and each tiny thread
is a miracle of meaning
drawn tight through the fabric
of pattern’s dedication
with all the patience of temporary

everything we build is false and
ruins prove nothing but existence
which is why the sky
is always the only witness
held captive in stuffy hotel rooms
and protected by a new name
every season

but i tell you
the earth keeps turning and we are all
just figments of gravity’s imagination
built of stone and empty vessel
carved raw in the likeness of star and spider
held together by shiny bits of belief

.

.

.