My heart is so fast.

It breaks (open) so quickly
and rejoices
and loves
and breaks
(open)

Fragile.

​But is it fragility?
Or is it ferocity?
Or even fear?

Pretending brokenness
& pain
& spentness ...

to not stay hidden.

Because that is what the breaking does:
It opens me.

& Then I am open
and open hurts more than closed but
closed is harder for
ever,

Open is only harder for 
now.

It will pass (the hardness) &

My heart knows it.

Already it passes ...

The blood and water flow off and
there is only the rawness of open

& I am exposed.

My heart beats in the open

Loud
Strong
Unstoppable

So much power

And I can't stand it.

I watch, helpless
Feeling helplessly &

Holding it without knowledge of the next
beat.

It doesn't care
about my helpless-ness.

It is so strong.

It is the strongest heart I know.

And sometimes I am afraid
when I can see it
and sometimes I am grateful
when I can feel it
and sometimes I am stronger
when I can hold it

Open.

I remember
you
as though we've met
before

I remember you from your being
in my yesterdays & todays
& from my imaginings of
tomorrows

As though I've know you across 
times,
as though you've been there
always.

You are in me.

It is not about finding
you,
You are not lost for
me.

It's about finding me

When I find my heart
in me
You will be
there.

You are there

I go to myself
&
You are there
& 
​I remember you.

​From (Re)birth in Homeland

I haven't been here for a while.

Feels natural now when I have nothing to say
to come here to say it.

It's a strangely complete feeling:
​
Just a white space on the page
between the words.

I don't know which words:
Just the one before and the one after but
being neither,
being just the space.

If you're old enough, you might remember
the end of the tape playing
through the speakers of the tape recorder:

White noise,
with the heads rotating,
just empty.

Sshhhssshhhsshhhsshhss
with maybe a click or a snap or a crackle,
or something
just meaningless,

Movement without content.
Just movement.

I get up to clear the table.

"It's not about getting there,
It's about the journey."

They say that.

Everyone says it, over and over,
like they believe it & know what it means
and then they laugh.

But what do they mean?

Do they mean that it is about this moment 
right now?  This poem
happening right
here

&

not the one that came out of me yesterday complete
and contained within itself and perfect

Until it was lost like a Seifenblase
bursting in the air just next to your face
leaving nothing but the memory of its 
shiny
floating 
rediculousness

And a couple of drops of water on your ear and
fingers.

It was a perfect poem.

I saw it and knew it and it disappeared.

Strange that the perfection remains still intact.

That one moment of knowing it to be perfect.

​I am grateful.

Strange how long I have been thinking this thought,
though I feel now that there is change in it.

Changes:  movement.

The thought is a new one: less a thought than an overpowering,
overwhelming,
over-flowing
longing,
deep as darkness:

as full and open and endless as forever must feel
in every direction:
forwards, backwards, diagonally across, swirling, up & down:

Everywhere space, full, so full of emptiness and longing and love.

I feel you there.

But it is dark & I cannot see you.

But I feel you:  breathing, 
moving, laughing, speaking: your voice vibrates all that silence and space and
I feel you like waves:

The vibrations of your existence.

Thank you for being there.
Here.

I love you.

My whole body is grey.

& my face.

Darker.

​...

What do you have
when you have
no more
hope?

...

I you are lucky, you have a reason.

Es geht auch ohne Hoffnung.

Nachdem der Hoffnung gestorben ist,
wird alles ruhig.

Irgendwie, habe ich was schlimmeres erwartet.

Schmerz. 
Tränen. 
Ein tiefen, dunklen Loch.

der Tot.

Ist aber nicht so.

Nach der Hoffnung ist alles so wie vorher. 
Nur in schwarz-weiß.
Grau.

Was machst du wenn du keine Hoffnung mehr hast?

Du machst weiter. 
Einatmen. 
Ausatmen.

Es tut genauso weh wie vorher. 
Nicht mehr weh. 
Nicht schlimmer wie mit.

Was hast du wenn du keine Hoffnung mehr hast?

Du hast ein Grund.
Wenn du noch da bist, ohne Hoffnung, dann hast du ein Grund.

Und wenn der Grund dich alleine tragen kann,
dich und dein ganzes Leben
und dein ganzen Kleinkram
und die Sinnfreiheit ...

Wenn dein Grund unter der Last hält,
ohne die Hoffnungsstütze,
ohne Aussicht,
ohne Blende,

Dann hast du dein ewige Leben gefunden, glaube ich.

Es geht auch ohne Hoffnung.

Der Grund bleibt.

I think I've found my heart.

I'm not sure yet.  Not completely.
I don't recognize it.

I looks different.  Completely.

It looks strong.
Beating.
Not erratic and wild and too soft.

Steady & Strong. 

It looks solid juicy meaty.
Like muscle,
only monochromatic.

I haven't figured that out.

Why is it black and white now?  When
it used to be red and bloody and dripping?

I think its mine.  It seems to know me.

But I don't recognize it.  I wonder if it might help me
laugh again?