Lake Metonga 35% illumination

 I aim to write but words despair

Here here 

Like “present” roll call 

What is meant to be shared and what is not? 

I suppose the more i read on my attachment styles 

The more i will understand my communication 

My defense mechanisms 

Things when I’m occupied with healing i notice and etch into marrow memory 

5 solid pages of decent information can do a lot for me in seem repairs. 

I cant tell the difference between lightening and the type of light I’m seeing flashing in the Northwoods 

Night sky.. 

the paranoia or the discernment  in me angrily jars out that “its them” testing, 

Scared that the movie how it ends is the now.. 

Without Forrest Whitaker ... what do i do.. 

I thought that in the end i would go to my people, that 

I would be needed 

But i also feel called to travel.. 

not like an instagram, 

Like someone with a mission 

To understand who we are.. 

we are not actually one band of 

We are the disbanded of one

Divide by adrenaline and resistance 

I can hardly fathom our history 

The reality of running 

Fleeing, 

Who knows who you had to kill 

Continue running despite the Rape

Continue running despite the blood 

Continue running despite your grama behind you chained to the other post, unable to run far away home

What gramas may come 

Angels in the marrow 

We recognize by the bones 

We glimpse time with our finger tips and scoop 

transmissions between our teeth gums 

We end in toe snails

So very low to the sand washing away from the beach 

But tonight the water was as still as the moon was halved by angles between ocean planet and space fire 

What is called the sky is no anchor, its the between the spinning and colliding 

The separations of earth and space 

Criminal 

We are no more separate from space then 

We are our brothers ... this is unfortunate at times 

Becoming much more like those i project mycells away from 

Being told in the shower that there are no bad bones

And this is the root of compassion

And that bones like sky are not theories

They taught anatomy by tapping each bone into life, 

By hushing and singing and washing our daughters in living wild waters risen by the rains then guzzled by the basins 

the land relieves itself by suckling 

Guzzling in times of despair 

Remains of certain ones,,

I don’t know why and I don’t know who, 

But i see an old grand mother wrapped in front of a good fire, young girls around her... and she is holding human bones..

And she is telling stories that we will never here it its natural language.

Wild old language was natural

They did not auto tune diction 

Because tongues are guitar strings 

So we spoke 

Sing 

Sing 

My skeletal frame is alive with its own motion and response to gravity 

To earths magnetism 

Today was the hardest day of this year and 

People keep telling me that its been 9 moons of a doozy for me.. 

that it continues to doozy me 

To dosey doe-eye me into oncoming traffic to die and die...

Until mornings become a normal i enjoy 

Until medicine becomes my calling and words become my vile 

Touch the nose bones in these times.. 

I don’t know why

But when you do it, and you get in between

A sound will release that is sweet 

Touch tenderness which has been hardened by a very cruel ways