eatartdaily

creative writing & photography

Equanimous

Usually
I am
an empty
shell but
sometimes
the wind blows
or someone
whispers a song
into the now
full shell
I am

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On the side where the grass is greener

Meet me
where sleeping dogs
lie. I’ve been
thinking about
you. You have
suffered enough.
You do

do your part,
but I am a wicked
omniscient narrator
and I am prolonging
the tension
as much
as I can

for my own
entertainment.
I realise now
my cruelty
is killing
your spirit.

Why give you life
if I will suck it back up
with a straw
as though your spirit
is a carbonated drink.

There, where the grass
has been flattened
by the shapes
of dogs

I will wait
for you.
Come
and I will
show you
love, as it
unassumingly
makes flowers bloom
and trees dance
and poets exhale

Without fail

For seven years

You tried to love me

and I shoved you away:

Meet me

For a while we were joined at the hip

You put
your heart
in the hands
of someone
you love, but

I wanted to
put all of
me in their
hands, heart,
lungs, stomach,
brain, bones,
body, for it to
even be remotely
enough, love, what
I feel we ought
to sacrifice to
be loved

A love story for a new age

20181216_144951Dancing through the streets of New York,
dancers on the street, David Bowie, Mick Jagger,
I’m going to live forever, I’m going to learn how to fly,
the dancers began as painting by Magritte circa

Ancient Greece and ended up among the handsome gods
of the twenty-first century, who only favor mortals
if they get to bed them, so to speak, I mean, not really,
these worlds are separate worlds, the Gods in one world,

humans in another, but as you know quite well
we meet in art, the still point of the turning world, the Gods
and we, the divine and the mundane,
the mortal and immortal.

Nobody:
Me: I can’t bear your pride anymore.
Nobody:

Mental state:
I stand in forests and the magpies scream at me, and I scream back,
I scream one name over and over, and it doesn’t matter if I’ve

torn my vocal chords, David is not coming back to me. David,
David? I am
not using his real name. It is not the kind
of love that is immediately

apparent. Later
I was to be found
photographing roses
as my eyes burned.

Till the end of time.
A million years.

Whose is whose.
But here or there.

Here
20181216_144958

GIST

20190316_163208Spirituallyou ran
through fields of yellow flowers
and

as you were
running you
found a ladder and

you began to climb it,
rung by rung, the ladder
was endless, you didn’t dare

look down, you
were generally terrified
of heights, but right now

the heights comforted you,
magnetized you,
invited you

upstrata, and as your entire
life flashes before
of your eyes you transform

into a word, a bird,
a sword, a flower, a poem, all gifts who have
been blessed by the blesser the blessee and

the blessing
breaking your brain into a brand
new brain,

on the tip
of your tongue,
a new language

X marks God

20190316_163308

Find God
Go to find God
God is in your heart
Stay close to God

ZEN

53549390_1031751087026433_6170338205720641536_nAt latenights you sweetdream
it is brightly noonfilled
and you are treading ecstatically
between the treedreams
in the forest, because once
you visit the forest, you
can never leave:

This does not scare you:

This dares you to return more often

to the forest where you shine saintwise
cloaked in silkwhite, fair-footed, light-
touching the ground, levitating, becoming
one with nature

Your body melts

That wretched trouble maker

And you become one with every yellow flower

When you are lost in an hour
you return to the forest

You return to the forest

Suddenly

Go out
into
the sun-
dappled
world

to collect
each
yellow
flower
You take
a walk

into the
forest and
find a green
puddle
With a
magpie

bathing
in it, dipping
its head and
shaking water
from its beak
When you return

home
the flowers
are so many
the yellow
is carrying
you

You are
more or less
beautiful
especially
when
you pout

When I
kiss you
I have no doubt
this is what Lord
Byron was
talking about

I named this after you

53355810_1030064867195055_4242431715596828672_nLive by the tides
love because

of the moon

And what you deserve
and wait for will

come to you soon:

Billions of
light-bulbs illuminate New York

at night you see

a city of the stars
and among the stars:

Escape the atmosphere
Swim in the milky way

And what you love
and yearn for will

soon answer when you say:

Take me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art?

Hear that sound
that’s your liberated laughter
Artwork to artwork,
this is happily forever after

Cast your whole spell on me

magical muse of poetics new and loose…

For I am
empty shell

mortal coil
dodo dead

doornail dead
doorknob

Write on the skin
of my soul

as I plant the bulbs
of your bestowed genius

in the soil
of your eternal garden

I’m no longer curious
How this occurs

And how the gift
chooses its taker

Accept the glorious
Light illuming the cautiously quiet candles of your flesh

Forests alight as down from the sky
a saint beaming gold rests his sandal on the millions of cups of golden flowers

which have appeared to be covering the entire of Cyprus overnight
It has been raining more than usual

It has been raining more than usual
It has been raining more than usual

In Cyprus

20181103_122142