JAMESY THE TRUE

I live above the boiler room 

The intermittent, mildly thunderous rumble 

strangely 

soothes me

Fire in the belly of the building I live in 

Core of the heart of 

the skeletal structure within 

Reminds me to try not to forget 

To storm the gates of the docile 

The indifferent, the passive 

To embrace the recklessness 

Of this undernourished spirit 

The rambunctiousness 

Of this unsupervised wit 

And yes, to fuel the fire 

To take the road of Frost 

Less traveled by, the path that begs 

the legs to run, the head to spin

and the heart to race 

Rumi whispers, mischievously

from the embers: 

‘Run from what is comfortable, 

Live where you fear to live’ 

Thirteenth century wisdom lingers 

I live above the boiler room 

The warm wooden floor below me 

shivers 

Restless ghosts of future fervor 

Nestle into the boiler’s rhythm, and I am 

awake

The mightiest speck of dust
that's us
we hang in the balance
on the precipice

no hands
only imaginary wings
blind, dis-anchored
floating, unhinged

We feel our familiar villain
our darkest last goodbye
creeping in
sneaking up behind, inhaling, and out

Filling our false sails
with the most gentle
most powerful breeze
tipping the scales

We falter, we hover, we fail, we recover
one false move, truth another
the mightiest speck of dust
survives

Within a wordless, ferocious

exquisitely awkward

pause

in conversation

the reckless and precise

embrace of their eyes

told a story 

yet unlived, vivid still

in the veins and in the will

and after hours of seemingly

idle

chatter, and endless cups

of truth serum green tea

she said she was drunk from 

nothing

but the day to live

the moment to be