Home Is Where The Spirit Goes

Home Is Where The Spirit Goes

You are not so separate from the source

that any connection must do.

All start as bricks and mortar

but some become burning buildings that bury you.

This incarnation is a circular room

with an infinite number of doors;

stop paying attention to the pretty patterns on the walls

and place your damn fingers on a handle.

Practice the gripping

then practice the letting go,

then place a foot through the frame

into all the versions of you

this world is yet to know.

Standing Ticket

Standing Ticket

It becomes part of a spiritual practice

to take one’s shoes off,

leave life’s dirt at the door

and find grounding for the body

through soles of the feet

meeting cold, hard floor.

The glue that binds us to the present

whilst infinity shows up to greet my soul.

The source of the indeterminate.

It’s a universal concert

and I’ve got a standing ticket.

The place I go to be everywhere at once

by going nowhere at all.

Hand In Hand

Hand In Hand

I will raise my voice to speak,

begin to rejoice in my action

even if no one hears me,

for this body houses a spirit

more powerful than the layer of skin

touched by another’s fingertips.

They dip their desire in holy water

whilst I make my mark with pincer grip,

acknowledging your visit to this sacred space,

a ticket stub reminder of all that’s temporary,

you can only ever sleep beside this,

an understudy to my lifelong apprenticeship.

But first, take off your shoes,

this is holy ground

we both need to learn to worship.

One For The Road

One For The Road

This empty hotel room

senses the lack of you,

scent lingering on sunken pillows

smells bittersweet, blended with jealousy

as my heart bottles this moment,

cap screwed on tight

in an effort to capture perfection

before it leaves on a plane.

I belong to the longing

and gather what stays,

your tiny imprints and easy mornings,

how you take your coffee,

the fit of your arm

as it curls around my waist.

Time’s precious reminder to stay present,

savour textures,

so I’ll take one of everything you sell

and make each bite last

somehow

until the market stalls open

with even more of this good for sale.

Pickle Jar Karma

Pickle Jar Karma

Today I’ll sit right in the middle of it,

in the thick, dense, lush bustle of love.

It does not do me any good

to exist on the periphery of this one.

Feel the pulse of my heart beat

as it runs through your finger tips

and turns your lips the richest mix

of red and pink. Forget all future things;

now is for sinking into our spirits,

the way yours sparkles through your eyes

and I’ve lost all doubt in universal signs,

spellbound in this spotlight for as long as it shines.

You’ve conjured up an aura that preoccupies my mind

with fascination for how the chapters in our stories

might use the time these bodies

find themselves writing the same lines

on the same side of the page.