Friday poetry post: chaos

There are years of dreams stored up for you. from the years you slept, and did not dream. and woke and did not believe.









Let me tell you, about silence, and how it can be deafening. It can be an army in your ears invading you, can be the ticking of time in the back of your mind or the reminder of crimes you'd left behind, can be the roll of thunder or everything run asunder or remnants of the wonder, can be the sound of light so bright your reaction is to fight or the night so hounding so confounding, life so astounding. Let me tell you about silence, it gives.









Love

like you're exhaling. It isn't anything

but a way of being alive












Security gives you the chance for chaotic, alarming dreams











The point is not to try to ____ .

The point, is to try.

Therein lies significance.












I want to road trip forever. And work full time, so as to be busy, to occupy my mind. I want to work with my hands, hard. I want five children with cotton dresses pulling weeds from the garden with me. I want to drive alone across Russia, live alone on the Mongolian planes for the next fifteen years. Learn the sound of silence. Fill my life with sweet noise. I want truth. I want to watch the sunrise on the Parisian rooftops, and set in my backyard lighting up the roses. To join an all girl rock band and devote my life to yelling politics at politicians, and to remove myself from society so far, so distantly that you'd have to run away too to find me. I want a thousand quiet nights. A hundred sleepless ones to remind me what it is to be alive.

The dichotomy of life is even more unutterably beautiful than this