Alive

I breath in

I breathe out

I feel my lungs full

I feel my lungs empty

I feel the life move in

I feel the life move out

I feel my lungs irrigated

With freshness

New as the spring bathed leaves

Are vivid

Spacious as the spring air

Is light

I breathe in

I breathe out

Life is within me

Life is without

I breathe in

I breathe out

I value the life of my being

I value the presence of my life

I breathe in

I breathe out

Life in its essence is simple

I love the simple essence of life

I breathe in

I breathe out

I am alive in existence

Existence is alive in my life

I breathe in

I breathe out

I breathe in

I breathe out

Instagram

The whole world is my stage

The catwalk on which I pout

Performing My sexy sexy –

Look at Me, look at My life,

Look at My happy happy image

Filled with My stuff, My shiny things,

My tits and My gym body bliss

And all the holidays

I could ever wish

Distilled into one perfect shot:

One contrived glass of fizz

Against a perfect sunset

Where all the angst of life

Is edited out

And brushsstroked clean,

Proving Me special

And different without doubt

In a tsunami of content, this

Bland-sewering-scum-tide onslaught

Of same and same and Noisy same

Ejaculated on to the face of My screen.

🤪👍💪🏼🤮

All Of Us

I am the black man

And I love my skin

And the life within the body.

And yet I am the white man,

Pale as the purity of snow.

And still I am Asian.

And so too am I mixed,

With all the races blood

In lattices twisted up in the

Ages DNA, conjuring diversity,

Bringing beauty and ugliness

Time and time again.

But I too am a woman

For there is joy in that form,

As there is joy within the masculine.

And the body of a child is mine.

And sometimes I am sexless,

Indefinably between

The boarders of mapmakers

And nationality.

And I am every class and cast

There ever was.

All this I have in me.

And as I am,

So too is other,

Not one

With jurisdiction

Over emotion, attribute or worth.

Not one less than

And not one more than.

All of us

Looking upon the world

From the same different place,

Infinitely capable

And with equal potential

To be all things.

Coming Home

is when being away from yourself is no crime, and where wrongdoings are smiled upon, attracting no shame.

it’s when Ill thought is not made Ill with thought, but allowed to be but thought in the cosmos of your being.

it’s where there is no requirement for change, for already you are whole, and where need itself is looked upon with equanimity, and even calming is calm beyond calm.

it is when being is simply seeing what is being, and when warmth is all there is or could ever be.

The Settling Dusk

In the slowing moments

Of the settling day

Where stillness nears its absolute,

The honeysuckle dusk

Blooms in windlessness,

Prickling the senses

Of moths.

This is dying:

The day spent,

The light away

Beyond the curvature of the world,

The night

Not yet begun.

There are sounds:

Birds chuckling in the canopies,

The swishing of cars,

A throttling motorbike,

But all belong

In the settling,

All are borne upon the air,

All are called

By the magnitude

To witness,

To witness a death

More alive than words

Could ever carry or convey.