circumferenceoftime

[circumferenceoftime]

Los Angeles, Take 3

I come back like a song stuck in my head, like a sunburn that never quite fades. Los Angeles. You still taste like gasoline and sugar, Hold me in your smog-stained hands, whispering, do it again, but different this time.

No more second servings, no more chasing what I already have. This time, I’m not running. Not proving. Not handing over my name like a business card, waiting for someone to tell me I belong.

I belong because I say so. Because the city has room for every version of me. Because my youth isn’t slipping, it’s stretching— wide as Mulholland at midnight, deep as the ocean after last call.

This time, I stay because I want to, not because I need to be something else. Not because I have to prove I’m here. I am here.

That’s enough.

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Burned Down House

I came back home, but the door was sealed, a warning sign swaying in the wind— Do not enter. Do not breathe too deep.

For years, I stood at the edge, hands pressed to the ghost of a threshold, watching smoke curl from the bones of the past, watching time clear the wreckage.

It wasn’t safe to step inside. The air was thick with what had been, the floors too brittle to hold me. So I waited.

But why must I rush? Why must I press forward, my heart racing to outrun the grief, to outrun the fear of staying still, of sitting in the space between?

I wanted to fast-forward through the ache, the heavy silence of the house that once echoed with your voice, your soft guidance, your codependence the crutch we leaned on like a bridge between two broken hearts, but even the bridge is gone now.

I knew myself in that context, in the warmth of your need and my willingness to lose myself in it, to define who I was by the way I held you, by the way you held me.

But now, the walls have crumbled, and I am alone in this space where we once danced around the ruins of our love, and I must rebuild from the ashes.

The process feels endless. I see the house, charred beams and burned-out windows, and I think I must rush through this, get to the other side, because this limbo is too much to bear.

But what if the danger wasn't the wait, but the belief that I could outrun it? What if the key to rebuilding was sitting still in the rubble, long enough to remember who I was before the fire?

Now, the poison has burned away, the air is clear, and the ground is solid beneath me, but I still fear that I might not know how to walk this new path alone.

But maybe I don’t have to rush to figure it all out, to find the doorway again, to rebuild the house. Maybe the process is the home, a place to remember who I am without you, without the crutch, and still, somehow, whole.

I step through the space where a door once stood, and though I am still unsure, I begin again, not as the person I was, but as the person I am becoming.

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Los Angeles

I'm clinging to my youth I see it over there curled up to the next best thing that feels like a good idea. I'm driving faster because of it out here in the wild wild west there are no rules. Los Angeles is a stomach ache. I am wrung out, void, and return. second serving. Push it down, baby. that’s show biz.

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pledge.

On this page I’ll draw my path Of least resistance: I want to go home To myself I want to leave my head And return to my heart. It is such a courageous thing To live this life The beauty in my powerful And clear Words Ring out, thrilling the audience.

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Sister

If we are to be sisters, then  We were assigned a certain type of love. If we are to be sisters, let us reflect The wisdom of our souls.

Let us trust our hand in hand the clasp  As we dance together To the rhythm of our heartbeat’s blood.

If we are to be sisters Let me come to your altar and offer you the reflection of who you really are.

The parts of you that were hidden: Let me find them, hold them in my palms. If we are to be sisters - and nothing more - Then we are only so much more.

If we are to be sisters then promise me you will call me in for the next century of lifetimes. Let our love story unfold slowly in the creases of space. Not the one kept between us that shows us you are you I am me. 

I will hold your feet to the fire But do not tell me you don’t feel my love.  Sometimes I am the steward of your pain  Other times you are mine But if we are to be sisters, what more could be assigned?

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Nothing & Everything

The cruelty of life is to not know until it’s too late The blessing of life is to know that you know nothing That there is nothing to know There is only everything to experience And everyone to be. 

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Samsara

I found value in you; Nursed it out from the marrow It will take a little work. The utility you carved out from me unearthed fractures that pulse— still.

Instincts Laced with the poison, They arrived right on time, from the passage carved in your doubt.

I know your shadow's edges, I trace them, endlessly. And now— you are no longer on the pedestal I built from my blind devotion.

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On Strategy

I heard the warnings. I didn’t know they were the warnings. Delivered in a package Laced and lazily masking it’s innuendo it says: Money makes me think of sin.

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The Long Way Home

You are not easy to forget. From the curve of my knee to the soft bend of your thigh, the path is known.

When it's all over, I choose the long way home. Knowing truth pools in the slack tide between our split perspectives.

And in that wander I found a knuckle on the path. A bone— sharp, jutting from the landscape, a less abstract bruise. We take staccato moves toward guaranteed comfort. Once, in your quiet certainty, you told me: “Never trust the pragmatic with a dreamer’s work.” but where is the dreamer? Don’t ask me. I'm not sure where anything is Except the sun.

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era hora

She has you feeling safe, yeah? I had you feeling wanted. Wanted? Shit, I pined away my delicate hours, Wanted in the way I saw you: entire.  You: an empire.  You, a guitar string - you, on e - El Jefe, mi amor, Preguntaste, "por qué tardé tanto en encontrarte?" Uff, "era hora" (yo) "es para siempre. relajado".  Ha, if only you could relajado. It is done now, and you relax, now, into her.  What would Thom say? "Back up the cul de sac, come on, do your worst" (would you do it all again?) "Si debes, debes por favor hágamelo saber cuando hayas tenido suficiente" Whenever it gets dark inside The light is waiting for a return All the way through it, And out. Shit. Got a headache from the velocity.

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Opposite of Lost

To the onlookers I say: join me. Sick in the skin - I’m baking in here,  The plan was to run wild in it.

I’m not done taking myself  seriously today, every day I dance to temper out. now pleasure is back on my lips.

If you’re reading this, you’re coming with me.

If you’re breathing this, take an Inhale one, two, three, four - Hold one, two, three, four - Exhale one, two, three, four - Blame the mother, Expel what they expect to see in you. Don’t try to find me -

Viva la Liberté.

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The Next Big Awakening

My heart aches on my 33rd birthday Wide awake on this Taurus full moon evening Wise awakening of my full self exposed to  Mostly but not limited to The waves on Mendocino’s coast Coffee with an old friend secretly My old flame Stoked alive through glory with a fire sign It stopped making sense months ago It’s my turn to shine And lean into the audacity of my entire being She’s so grateful I showed up for her 33 years and 30 more to go before The next big awakening. 

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Golden Repair

In the year since you’ve been gone, I have lived inside the gentle integration of your wisdom. Like when things feel big and overwhelm creeps in, and I can’t call you, I call upon you, and you tell me: It’s not necessary to do the biggest things in the world. All that needs to be done are the smallest things With great love and compassion.  

One evening I was driving through your city, from Noe to Cole, as the fog engulfed the hills. Your voice spilled out of my mouth, remarking, “this is such a pretty town, I’m so happy to be here”. 

It was your familiar reminder to be vigilantly aware in the presence of beauty. There you were.  I pulled over to roll the window down,  To dip my hand in the rolling fog,  To reach for you. 

You are the kintsugi for my cracked frame, the golden repair that holds us all together with beauty, tradition and elegance.  Bringing the different aspects of our fragmented selves together, even now, from the other side of the veil. 

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Rockstar

How is everything beautiful And nothing feels real A warm night in San Francisco means Hookie Sleeping in late Phoning your crush All to say that I’m not okay Not right now but I will be, around the corner That’s why I’m here in San Francisco  The jokes run rampant just like yours did On that rainy afternoon when I couldn’t tell her God is dead I never heard back from him She laughed and rubbed my back She laughed and my facade, cracked Together-  We were together once- I, always a punk, you, Always a rockstar. 

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11ICU - 5.

It’s funny how sisters don’t Call each other to sob That is not the place. That is the place To practice strength, Remember joy, Fall back into a time and allow it to wash away these realities.

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Pancake Breakfast

The part of me that still has hopes The part of me that still dreams and knows that i am still alive  She wants to play on a saturday morning She wants my full attention, my pancake breakfast, love from the cat, a trip around the block A smoke Debussy for her roaring mind She is me and together we want I want To be free of where I am and what I mirror back to you Who I should be is always  Who you should have been.

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The day before my 31st birthday

My higher self is wrestling with A little baby inside of me She is the pisces, her highness is my scorpio If you believe in all that matter

One wants to run I won’t tell you who, you know. The other needs to stay long enough To burn it down and rise together they tug tug tug There is a war going on inside and outside Of my skin cells If they get to be crazy, then so do I, baby cries.

Crashing head first into each other When the ‘shrooms kick in The war on drugs was won this year Maybe it’s time to move to Oregon.