Search Suzanne Crone



Posted in Poetry

You are not solid Oh Great One, standing hands-on-hips with all those rippling muscles. And the teeth! Oy!

Fun Fact: your touchables are porous, sensual thresholds balanced around a splinter-prone armature. Think of a pumping, chewing Mardi-Gras puppet, purposed to summon the divine within to experience the world through its senses. You.

Yes, you are the sacred portal.

How do you see during your day?

How do you hear

How do you feel? 

Do you notice anything at all, or are you so wound around your need to control, respond, show your feathers, that you miss the gorilla . You’ll deal with it soon enough unless it deals with you first.

Locus–a zipper pull on a sliding axis with history rambling behind like a long summer day; the future in front, focused, intense, growing nearer, then flash-bright before the blink. Might as well go for a soda.

Oh yes the biology, but you yearn for the magic, don’t you?


Or, is it as simple as head-held-high in your righteous bias that you must stay? Things to do! After all, you didn’t make all of those binary choices, or endure only to acknowledge that this is all over.

Glaciers tell the biggest lies.
Forget theft. Failure to ground and inspire is the greatest crime.





Regret as self-reflection.

Seneca: Sometimes even to live is an act of...  

Diderot: The sensitive man such as myself, entirely absorbed by things that are being objected to him, loses his mind and recovers it only at the bottom of the stairs.

Bogart in Key Largo: When your head says one thing, and your whole life says another, your head always loses.

Overwhelming, the unmistakable current that leaves you unnoticed, gasping on the shore near the loaves. That wasn’t love. That was a duel without bullets; missed cues and the premature harvesting of pure potential left to rot in baskets under the stairs, dawning grief that this is not your ease.

Trauma, thrice like the cock crowing.




The emotionally unaware human is the most dangerous thing on the planet.

Love is work.

Love is work.

Love is work.