He Says

He was telling me before bed,”You know what I like? I like the kind of floaty that you put around your arm, not the one you wear on your chest. That’s what I want to wear for my birthday party.”
“By then, I want to teach you how to swim without floaters.”
“No” he says with a little quiver in his voice.
“I think you can. I learned how to swim at your age.”
“Did your momma show you how?”
“No. My Halmee did.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s not here.”
“She died? She passed away?” He sounds mature.
“How old was she?”
“She was 94. She was here a long time.”
” But she didn’t make it to 100?”
“No. But I was happy for her. She was starting to hurt here and made room for someone else.”
“Does dying hurt?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never died before.”
“Does anyone know?”
“I think most of them are dead. You know what I heard from a wise man once?” Even in the dark I know he is staring at me with inquisitive round black eyes with a bright light piercing through, like the kind you see in Japanese anime animals.
“He said that we all know we will die one day. This is truth. And if we accept that as truth. Then just spend the rest of the time living it.”
Elijah is silent for some time. Then he says,”Can we live to be 200?”
“Maybe one day.”
He graduated from kindergarten today.


I woke up today and I mean really woke up and a familiar voice kept chanting,


Write until you fingers become numb,

Write until your nose bleeds with genius,

Write until your mind quiets,

or chatters,

But don’t stop and let it out like you did when you didn’t realize what this time thing was.

Write so that your head doesn’t explode or maybe it will cause it to explode like a kaleidoscope of confetti,

But don’t stop and let it out like you did those nights when you didn’t care about waking up.

Tell it!

Tell the story of words,

Let it be gibberish,

You could tell fibberishes without seize or need to please Ish,

Just keep going because if you stop than your purpose wanes.

Write to keep creating,

And if you must pause

Spend it making love and pretend to keep procreating,

Or create to recreate that sense of liberating the voices in your head.

Be prolific!

Let it seethe from your pores like sweat and blood and stench the air around you.

Let your fingers tire, mouth fire, sound the liar that really tells the truth in spools of metaphors.

Write nonsense!

Say it, 

Then shout it,

Then scream it,

And pass out mouth open with a dribble of drool

Creating that pool of hope and love, and life, 

And wake up groggy from that high stuffing your head with words

Write till the passion fills you up and makes your stomach round

And shit it out because it’s going to be beautiful one day!



I Am Blessed


I’ve had time to stare into infinity,
Into that timeless sky and
I’ve been breathless, speechless, heartbeat-less at the grandeur of the view of heaven.
And sometimes I get a little scared because the beauty of everything I see frightens me.
I let my thoughts fly like wisps of ethers through the air and for an instant I wonder about the pain of losing all of it.
Will it one day disappear or am I blessed enough to just vaporize into mist and become a part of the atmosphere,
Oh and then I remind myself that I’m supposed to feel a part of it already and I should shout to the world that “I am blessed!”
And the vibrations ripple outwards,
“I am blessed!” I shout louder so that the ripple echoes
“I am blessed!” I must let you know because how else will I hear myself think it through the thick of the panic that “I am blessed!” But a little cursed for feeling so blessed that it’s hard for me to accept my mortality sometimes and I don’t care because I am so in love that I don’t want to lose any of it and I want immortality.
At least for the moment because when I drift back down to sanity I will be at peace with the immortal spirit and will vibrate again and again ,”I am blessed…” Until one day I float upwards towards the heavens and my blessed spirit rains back down to earth.