don’t adjust your dial

all one
internet frequency
coaxial joining
back to the Garden
no barriers
between leaf and lens
every access
to skin and bone and flavor
nothing too precious
to be kept in plastic
or steel vault
stone and earth
rain and sun
wash and burn away sin
days of neon and nylon
like fine china
cracked and useful
grimy raw festering world
with compost and warning labels
avoid the tree of knowledge
keep something better
coded for pleasure
tattooed by teeth
one scream
heard around fault lines
no mistakes
just feeling joy and pain
messages relayed
all one

too late

I’m running out … when will it be enough?

The days of warm cookies just out of the oven in winter and chasing fireflies in twilight summer seem lost.
The first view of the city’s skyline in morning was enough to cover early heartache.
The Van Gogh I secretly touched in the museum- those raised paints and ridges, FUCK!- they were enough for a whole semester of college.
Staring at clouds and feeling soft grass beneath my feet with my daughter… she’s too busy now.
Staring at the crackling fire sharing stories with my son… he’s off on other adventures now.
Memories of flesh taken quickly in the old shed were enough to get through almost a decade.
Visions of candles on medieval cathedrals, clear waters off the Mediterranean, rocky plains of Iceland all were enough for a short time.

But, I’m running out…
I want to savor each spice on my pizza instead of blindly devouring.
I want to wiggle my toes in sand and feel smoothed by warm winds.
I want to feel cold winter winds on my cheek, warm embraces at night.
I want to hear mysterious moans over moors.
I want to walk in more dark forests, exploring every nook.
I want to abandon fear of words hurting any more.
I want to know it’s not too late for me.