Leaving New Orleans

It took some time,

but he untangled himself

from the past,

And in so doing

he had discovered his voice

and became



All the things,

that he

ever wanted to say,


all the things

that he ever wanted to do,

were now

at the tip of his fingertips


Leaving her,

was only a small

part of it



After all, it was a big

old world

And the door to his future

was wide open


The world – and his whole future

was there – just waiting

for him


All he had to do, was go through the door


The theory, it seemed


beautifully simple


His whole life

he had

always, longed for simple


Just flesh out

the points of a plan,

and draw

the lines connecting them


That was all he had

to do,

Just that one little thing


And the rest, it seemed



take care of itself






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Cascade's picture

This whole poem expands and

This whole poem expands and contracts like a big deep breath. It's remarkable how free I feel having read it. Like it was happening to me. 

So intimate and expansive at the same time. I love it!


Spinoza's picture

  Whenever I try to write


Whenever I try to write it’s always a matter of settling the rhythm of breath first. If the cadence of breath is out of sync with the mind, it will create a disconnect of tumbling boulders – and there will be no Pyroclastic flow.

Starward's picture

This is a very astute

This is a very astute comment, and I agree with every word!


[* /+/ ^]

Spinoza's picture

Always a pleasure Starward.

Always a pleasure Starward. Me too. My head is in the stars. And all the stops and leaps between. 

Starward's picture

And thank you very much for

And thank you very much for that reply.


[* /+/ ^]

Spinoza's picture

always a pleasure

always a pleasure