№ 55: Random 1


violate my norms
and speak
tangibles, nonsense
like spider paper
casting shadows
into fire — brightness
the edge of reason,
my own reward
caught in the mix
of this cursed tangle

lean like the sarcophagus
against dewed walls
sweating with judgment

and so much is found
to be wanted
in silent moments
of reprieve, if eyes
only opened

say it’s not
so drab
in these garments
whose tailor did spend
fortune and blood
on cleverness,
but not enough

norms made from norms
overridden by greed,
vengeance, insanity
if that’s what change
really is; violations
leave questions
unanswered, but answer
me:
why chase the rainbow?

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№ 54


all the time,     now
flashes in the mist
— ephemeral; vestiges
of the nothing
birthing something
(the nouns) —
like Time’s Arrow
shooting through the mind’s
eye, pointed
lazily–this way?
؟taht ro–

flimsy
little
arrow
i question:
why so determined?
what’s the rush?

№ 46: Divinations


moment by moment,
images once sharp
explode into a million
brilliant flashes
and then rain down,
fading as they fall,
upon a now-foggy mind

darkness is a body,
like the ocean surf,
crashing upon the shore
of consciousness:
illumination yields
its own rewards,
though always, inevitably,
back to darkness we return

this body gives and takes,
pushing and pulling
energies unseen — those that guide
the hand, the pen, the brush,
that give life to stale
monologues and blank canvases
in turn — but ever in the picture,
and forever will this act
of blatant creation
demand this covenant —

writer and writing;
and the thousand other types
of artist and artsy folk
and their divinations —

speaking frankly,
these are the moments
i wonder about the most

№ 37: ADHD (A Perfect Example)


Distraction-free
should I be
if focus
was my friend,

but still I find
my wandering mind
serving notice,
hastily penned,

whenever it thinks
it’s too good for shrinks
— what hocus! —
wait… how does this end?

№ 28: Loose Threads


     sometimes
     restless nights
are little more than         catches,
     loose threads
in the cosmic tapestry

they can be so much
     more,
     more like gifts
freeing us from the monotony
     of      Just Right

     more like opportunities
     for reflection

part
     and parcel
of nights so    deviant

№ 25: Paths Beyond the Fence


Is it wrong
to want to leave the world
behind, blazing trails in new directions;
to lose sight of the path
and take the road less traveled,
forgetting fear and loving
just how lost you feel?

Nowhere to be. No when.
No expectations
beyond this moment.

Life becomes the journey, the destination
an afterthought.

That is life.
That is living.

I want to wander the jungle,
just to count the different bodies
breathing in and out,
and to try to find my own
amongst the crowd;
to cross the desert
just to feel rays of fire
upon my back, and to see the ever-shifting sea
of sand that stretches on forever
until forever is exhausted;
to climb the range,
just to know the terror
of every heart that beats
that is so often forgotten when the end
isn’t preceded by one misstep,
and to rediscover the lost art
of feeling so very small
no matter how high one climbs;
to roam the tundra
in search of warmth and just a bit
of comfort, and to realize
how much more there is.

That is life.
That is living.

I want to live.

№ 21: Static Moment, Part 1


The first of several parts of a larger work I’ve decided to break up.

Sometimes I have lazy moments
–I suppose it’s only natural–,
episodes of static,
all gray and black and white,
that lead me from something
to nothing, and back.

Hours I spend in idle wonder
of nothing whatsoever; composing
myself, collecting the pieces
of a fragmented mind.

Emptiness is my friend,
and my friends are always welcome
when it all gets to be too much.