feeling sideways
   on a simple wave
the soft sigh outside
and the harmonious trickle
blend into the stomach of an evening,
in the midst of where I’ve been before ~
this same always place.

I don’t doubt what’s meant to be
nor try to rake the stakes from it,
but patiently take command
of all I simultaneously surrender.
The great thing about
not knowing what’s coming next
just before it happens.

I’m used to the future
having been present in the past.
When it shakes its feet of dust
the same face is reflected
in front and behind
the patterns of a design
that runs through signs
with music that fills my eyes.

Yin Yang– Trails into oblivion.
To reconnect with itself later on.

The pattern is woven
except observed by
the parties of itself that oversee
what they are immersed in:
a deep tracheotomy
at the instant of speaking.

Speech therapy for the wicked:
release your pent-up voice,
don’t take it back inside
to plan grave schemes
on a revengeful roundabout.
(Hem the seams in a painful way/
 to spit and to polish
 and secretly demolish
 what would otherwise
 have been a kiss . . . )

Rather, stuff it in a cup
and learn to converse
with the best of friends.
There is more free air
than you lead yourself
to believe.

The health of the spirit
sits behind the voice,
and the soul of the hole
is in the whole
enlargement of the truth.

© 2003 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications
All rights reserved