I can’t stop the questions
wandering through my mind—
the walls somehow hear
the walls are unkind—
exposing my thoughts.
revealing my secrets
taunting my fear
I move carefully now
as if the floor might remember
where I stepped yesterday—
I’m moving slowly
dreading exposure
small things feel rehearsed—
the way the kettle clicks off
how the fridge kicks on
the ticking of my watch
the way your message ended
abruptly—
no closure
at night I lie still
not sleeping
not thinking
just waiting—
waiting for the moment
something almost happens
…it never does
that is the worst part
the air grows heavier
harder to breath
each empty day
time ticking away—
no consequences
I no longer seek answers
…I measure pressure
…I measure delay
…I measure the distance
between my heartbeat—
and the next
I have begun to distrust
the ordinary
light falls across the table
too precisely
the refrigerator hum stops
just as I listen for it—
the stop feels purposeful…
but only momentary
I leave drawers open slightly
just to see
if they close themselves
nothing moves—
that unnerves me
this stillness feels arranged—
like furniture
set for a guest
who has not arrived
in my unraveling mind
I postulate explanations
I do not believe—
tracking the silence
as it widens…
deepens
deceives
even my mirrored reflection
seems delayed—
a fraction of a second
behind real time…
and what it returns
is not mine
I do not seek discovery
I attend
to the tension
that is gripping me
something is near—
not touching…
not speaking…
only stealing the air
in increments
too small to prove
I examine everything—
tremors in my hand
dust in the window-light
distant sounds—
patterns bloom
where they can’t be
I turn
gazing out
into the night sky
mentally drawing lines
between unconnected stars
until the sky feels crowded—
dangerous…
threatening
I tell myself to rest
knowing even in stillness
my mind keeps pacing
thoughts keep racing
my eyes keep scanning—
scanning the walls
for a hidden seam…
a gaw-damned door
outta this bad dream
then I hear it
in my head
a muffled wail
a silent scream
something is there
I feel it—
feel it watching me…
then I realize—
its watching with my eyes
the water falls — where silence grew
a silver thread the forest knew
now carves its song in shaded stone
to your troubadour heart, it calls — come home
cold mist drifts soft through cedar’d air
a hymn repeats — a whispered prayer
the cliff confides the truth it knew—
the water falls — where silence grew
each drop recalls the mountain’s bone
its patient work — by centuries hone
the darkened wall — current made true
a silver thread the forest knew
cascade resounds — forest refrains
a vow renewed by falling rains
the gorge replies in timeless tone
it carves its song in shaded stone
you stand, undone, and understand
the gentle reach of this open hand
why no matter how far you roam—
to your troubadour heart, it calls — come home
simile is like a ladder
pretending to be a metaphor
like a wink that forgot the joke
like saying this is that
while nervously crossing fingers
it behaves like a bridge
made of comparisons
like duct tape for meaning
like a dog
dragging yesterday’s newspaper
in today
simile is as polite as a knock
on language’s door
as clumsy as a metaphor
with training wheels
as helpful as pointing
saying that—
but pointing sideways.
it stacks itself like mirrors
facing mirrors
like a thought
wearing another thought’s coat
like explaining love with weather
or silence with snow
or itself with itself—
which is a whole lot
like chasing your tail
and calling it clarity
like a Kansas flatland twister
the act of creating
is contained chaos—
all may seem peaceful
but a storm is coming—
a storm of arriving ideas
thoughts and visions
pitching and spinning—
beating against the tried and true…
ricocheting off the status quo…
ripping the roof off the mundane—
new images
colliding in midair—
bursting like skyrockets
unfinished phrases
twisting in the mind
tugging at the soul’s treeline—
terms and concepts
rivering forth—
a potent and most beautiful chaos
attention splinters
scatters wildly
the pulse quickens
as if the mind
must outrun itself
to find the calm—
to find the ”eye”
then something ignites
like a time bomb
as time reshuffles
momentum takes over
as I am pulled upward
then inward—
down blurred corridors of my mind
where light narrows
as intention sharpens—
thoughts—
concepts—
and insights—
that I’m shocked are mine
begin making themselves known—
like someone vaguely familiar
wandering into a candle’s light
it is here I greet them
befriend them
and become intimately acquainted
outer world dissolves…
clocks lose relevance…
hunger becomes theoretical…
the body is reduced to breath—
and hands
hands become tools
tools become possibilities
I cease resisting
inside this whirling
cone of creation
energy feels boundless—
thought welded to action—
each idea feeding the next
at impossible speed
like a raft in a rapids—
like rain off a rooftop
words arrive faster than doubt
color…
form…
cadence…
phrase—
everything aligns
everything insists
I do not notice fatigue
I do not notice time
eventually the grip loosens
I break free
unsure if it’s morning or night
though I am not concerned
just curious
and fascinated
the room reappears
the body makes its demands—
…water
…food
…care
—much rest
I attend to them slowly
still glowing
because I have returned
carrying something solid
something wonderful
a nearly finished work
…shaped
…resonant
…breathing—
alive
evidence of what I created
evidence of where I’ve been
The arrival was gentle, respecting status. In the foothills of western Oregon, rain wasn’t an event, but a condition — something the forests gratefully expected. I walked the short road through town, past the closed café and the post office clock that never hurried — letting the moist air caress my face, drops settling upon my cap and jacket.
By midafternoon the rain found its rhythm. It stitched the forest together, thread by silver thread, darkening bark. It loosed the heady petrichor of the region — blended conifer, moss, limestone, and fertile earth. Falling water speaks in several dialects here — on leaves, on needles, on tin, on the slow creek that remembers everything.
That evening the rain thinned but didn’t leave. It lingered as mist, as mountain breath. Lights glowed warm behind windows, and the forested hills leaned closer, keeping me warm and peaceful in my sleep. I dreamed the rain was not falling, rather embracing, and quietly listening — perhaps somewhere that infamous wood chuck did too.
rain kisses cedars firs embrace the sky-waterm soil welcomes its friend
wild laughter breaks the grip of seriousness
and people start saying what they want t’say
time expands into bubbles of outrageousness
rising and drifting, then bursting away
the voice forgets manners — the body says yes
shoulders shake loose old history’s hold
sorrow releases its grip in the mess
and silence leans closer — curious — bold
this sound gathers chaos, twists up the face
in a warmth that tingles like satin on skin
echoes that soften the edges of space
opening a door so that joy can rush in
when finally it fades something lasting remains
the foolishness of gravity come unquietly true—
being here despite losses — eschewing the strains
is a shared miracle — enjoyed rockingly with you
forgetting begins as a kindness — you’d soon like to go away
a soft eraser rubbed lightly at the edge of every day
names loosening their grip on familiar faces
home and car keys laid down in too many odd ball places
a sentence abandoned — unlanded… unfinishd slack
staring blankly in the street — where’d I park the vehicle
days filled with ghosts of almost’s – that’ never go away
the mind-glitching pause… not empty — just off track
whose memories are slippery-slidin — slick as a girkin pickle
who have even forgotten how to swim… and how to ride a bicycle
its thoughts widening slowly, not like loss — but like distance
like a field once crossed — now unrecognized from a hill
visions that once drove us — now just no longer will
stories repeated absent-mindedly until we’re not certain why
details thinning — leaving only vague facts without feeling
recall how her voice sounded — not how much she knows
the instincts remembering before the mind goes
step by careful step — less recollection each time
the future left swinging open like a door that should close
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
for whom even the names of their children get blurred
dates soften into seasons — seasons into light
the past is a handful of tones and textures — a lil’ bit’a fright
a dark lamp in a window — title of that song you just heard
something important you were meant to carry
but set down ‘cause it was heavy — fearing it’d fall
language itself grows hesitant — syllables stumble n’stall
meaning drifting ahead without effective explanation
like somebody in a flashback you don’t recognize at all
whose name begins with an “L” — as far as you can recall
no need to feel remorse — say wha… oh yes — of course
no need to hold back — no need to retrieve the “what for”
the mind’s traveling lighter than it ever has before
floating free of lists — passwords — no anniversaries
carried by an instinct older than most memories
older than fears that once made you shiver
forgetting is not failure — it’s peace… why deny it
not erasure — not loss — it’s chaos now made quiet
no resistance or regret — gone… every sliver
it has floated away — down a dark mythological river
Original DDE™ art: “Storm At Sea” by: rob kistner © 2/12/26
Original DDE™ art: “In Dreams — I & II” by: rob kistner © 1/27/26
Original DDE™ art: “Wild Laughter #2” by: rob kistner © 1/23/26
Original DDE™ art: “Ecstatic” by: rob kistner © 1/23/26
Original DDE™ art: “Losing Traction” by: rob kistner © 1/22/26