Passion and Desire

You want to write -

write romantic; all dusty halls and candle light,

you want to write quiet into your brain,

Blood out of your veins,

you want to write your way out of mediocrity

into radical self honesty - self discovery.

You want a life free of the fear of death

like - F-ck!

You want to write like you’ve been in love,

you want to fall in love

the hurts the heart, intoxication, no one will ever love

you like that kind of love.

You want to create; let gods crawl out and cut their way out

of your mouth - your uncalloused fingertips.

You want to be well read, you want to be well, you want to be read,

to be understood.

You want cassette tapes, and sound, and fire

you want to inspire, you want paper lines to 

extend into order, you want existence to be easy again

you want to remember the exact day that darkness made its

home behind bar-like ribs.

Calling your personal grandfather paradox a mercy

because you’d kiss child you’s cheek so tenderly

so future fingers would never wipe tears.

F-ck.

You want to take short walks down all kinds

of long paths -

to scream at halfway markers on forest routes,

to scream until your bones recall how a skeleton works

and everything doesn’t hurt.

You want to be more, be more than pen scratched 

words of overwrought suffering,

the rattling of a single penny in the charity box,

you want to know if you ever thought freedom was flying,

but you remember the peace of an unstill sea

and long boat rides.

You want to go home

to a home that feels like its name,

you want quiet in your brain,

a life free of pain

you want your heart to pump with the strength of its want

until each cell swells with the lifeblood of natural desire,

and your body becomes alight with a different sort of fire,

spiraling smoke signals,

that don’t make breathing hurt so

hard.