A grown man should never wear a backpack, they say. But how can a grown man climb a mountain without a backpack? I’m at base camp, tying my boots. Looking up at the alpenglow, transformed by the eternal beauty of uplift and storm, I feel like I’ve just been born.
I write notes in the margins of my thoughts in the wild frontier of my fantasies in the dark crevasse of my mind. Chop off my footnotes and I’ll fall to the Earth like a snow angel.
If I could love you — comma coma — then everything would be different. Upload your secrets so everybody can see you’re just like them — period pause — and we can transcend these bodies, this past, this mask.
Don’t plant your feet in cement. And don’t put your heart in a pocket it don’t belong. And don’t count to ten thousand if you only have to walk a couple of feet.
The sun is solace that the night subsides. Golden sheets that chase away the dark. You are the first and last page in the novel of my heart. My hands are so full of intention they ache. Desire coats my palms. Longing keeps me awake. These dreams wild and foolish lay beside me like a fawn.
There is a voice that commands me in different directions. I’m just its brainless marionette. Helpless to the mind’s bayonet. Open up. Close up. Turn left. Turn right. Buy that. Try that. Shout now. Yell. Scream. Punch. Hit. Bow out. Run away. Drink it. Smoke it. Fuck it. Fuck them.
Destroy your ego.
Watch the beautiful campfire glow.
Take me to the edge, where the continent plummets into the sea. Let me sit in the sand and run it through my fingers. As the ocean waxes on the shore, and the gulls dive into the water, give me strength to remain sitting; as the world rotates around like a gas station sign and people come and go, let me stay open, wild and foolish, exposed.
When the time is right, come and pick me up, take me home and make me yours.
There is a horse behind the barn that has never been ridden. There is a clanging of bells from the abandoned church down the lane. There is a woman in lace, somewhere amid rolling green hills, with flaming red hair and wild blue eyes, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers, waiting for me on creaking floorboards.
I walked out into the dark with a lantern, looking for salvation mountain, only moths came to me. I dove to the bottom of the sea with a scuba mask, looking for Atlantis, only eels came to me. I sat cross-legged with a loving heart, looking for peace, it came to me.
You’re scared. I’m frightened. The world is a tornado we’re inside of. Only together can we weigh enough not to fly away. Grab my hand. It’s open. Let’s sit for awhile.
Like wild and foolish children in the grass.