This one is for the KFG girls, the wild spirits who know what it means to love the shadows, to drop the mask, to live out loud. Who pull courage beyond fear from the deep sticky honey-pots at their centers. The ones who buy each other's chairs and paintings and small books of poetry, who listen around the fire pit, who teach each other and learn from each other and ride or die for each other. My oomph and gunk and alchemical ways bow deeply to your oomph and gunk and alchemical ways.
KFG FOREVER!!!
Start and end your days by listening to the silence
submerged well below the Earth,
water softening the structure, and pay
attention to what’s toxic right under your feet.
The home it is good to come back to
waits at the bottom of the rock face
you must strive to ascend.
I am always wondering what you wonder,
what butters your bread, what drops
your mask, what you chalk your climbing hands with.
Are we merely filling silences with the constant tick-tock
that races every hour to its finish line?
What if the carpet off-gasses just a little,
a trickle, not a flood? Look around at what you’re willing to compromise.
Honestly I don’t know if I prefer to end with a whisper
or a BANG. Well, honestly I’d rather not end at all, just keep fucking going.
