I Stand At My Own Door

Jdauphinais photo 2017

I stand at my own door.

I was not able to before, nor to tell the difference between my body and my soul.

Now the body is aging.

It is my protection and limitation.

I’ve suffered by resisting, taking in the hurt from the ways the world feels


-with inhospitable feelings.


I stand at my own door.

What if I can be resurrected from the inside out while still alive?

Strengthened by the acceptance that- everything outside of the soul is vulnerable

To the Living State.

Each day shows me how I was naive, peeling back every instance

When I made a proclamation, Where I reconciled,

Where I thought the creativity and the drive were far enough,

out of mind enough,

unbound enough.


I stand at my own door.

In a religiosity that says to let go of everything

that there is nothing

that god is all and the one thing

that there is reincarnation

letting go of that

why leverage levity to achieve moksha

letting go of that

why talk about the next life while

detaching from self in this life

letting go of that

why give up the poisons and say it’s another’s poison

the self-concept is poison

letting go of that

what if there is nothing, an anomaly of nothing

uniquely Fibonacci

divinely useless

purposely infinite

unavoidably redundant

epically small

ferociously meaningless

rhythmically profound

and belonging to no unknowing source or master

no craftsman or leader

letting go of that


I stand at my own door.

Acrobatic puddle spilling off the desk

Old friend, new professor

Black trouser socks on Saturday nights

Talking Heads

My wife knows your wife.

Pictures of summer vacation

Do we have enough paper towels?

letting go of that


I stand at my own door.

New Moon, Old constellation

I think the sunset belongs to the birds that coddle the roost.

Dried seaweed entangled

My grandmother rubbed her hands across the rocking chairs on the deck.

letting go of that

Can you? Can We?

Will you? Will we?

Marry me. Marry Me.

letting go of that

Then we embraced.

Then you handed me gifts,

Enveloped me in your most intimate personalities

without anyone ever knowing you in this way before.

letting go of that


I stand at my own door.

Plunging into the heart of being an artist

letting go of that

Embracing the courage

letting go of that

Coursing through the veins of history

letting go of that

Making a choice to live

letting go of that

Dividing the cause

letting go of that

Embracing temptation

letting go of that

I am not dead yet.

letting go of that


I stand at my own door.

Unsilenced at the foot and jaw, still able to speak.

Interrogating the figures of injury.

Correcting my self for what Daddy, and his Daddy, had done.

letting go of that

Reading the world and its mediocre promise making

False actors in heroes mask

Not willing to sit flat-out, at a distance

to see one’s self among the absurd



And there is no comfort for it

letting go of that



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