January 26, 2016

The Farce We Call Death

To feel the sky
Becoming the clouds quantity
A numinous heart
Torn from realm
Forever held
In the sun’s setting palm
Our horizon color of fire
Great incinerator
Devours all but the soul’s sillage
You frighten me not
For I wait
With endless



To Gatsby

We all hoard days
Like so many memories
Living in a non-existent reality,
Sure of our ways,
Sure of a path that keeps us sane,
A life we have all bought into.
Mixed into this dying life-stew,
Let us forget everything that IS,
Everything that has happened before.
Let us run towards one another
With an innocence
Thought of 13.7 billion years before.
Let us celebrate our fragile existence
As if an apocalypse were looming
Just beyond our horizon.
Hold me in this waxing moonlight
As if tomorrow were only a word.
If the dawn shall come,
We’ll cast our arrows towards the sun,
Part ways,
Never remembering the one.




You wounded
Something beautiful
Inside of me
That fateful day.
Upon seeing it
Slowly dying,
I took pity
Hearing its whimpering
And quickly killed it,
Ending its suffering.



To Trip on Empty Air

I wondered what
Had happened between us.
I thought perhaps
You had an answer
And were keeping it from me.
Yet you were at more of a loss
Than I.
We both knew what happened.
The words failed to fall
From our mouths
Because we did not know it,
Causing the pointing finger
Of lost confusion.
Well, I found that word
We were both searching for—
It is a real word,
I assure you.
Once you understand
Its definition,
You will understand US
And realize neither of us deserves blame.
We just tripped on a word
We did not know existed.
I feel at peace,
Knowing now neither
Of us was at fault,
For how does the brain register
A feeling so foreign?


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