i watched a jogger running by amid the heat of day; she seemed to be at perfect peace although i couldn’t say with any certainty, of course, she was that way for sure — but madness has its methods and my lens, its aperture i sat upon a sandy beach and saw a couple there; … Continue reading "madness has its methods"
i do not want the public face; i want the truth that hides away, selective of the time and place wherein it will devour its prey i want the message that i know will mean the end of entropy, the dissipating seasons, and the riddle of identity for as the blue turns into black, the … Continue reading "the lasting truth"
A "poetic epilepsy" piece.
If I wait to take my medicine, I can write a lot of poems before I start having seizures. I have about another hour before things start to get really bad, so I’m taking advantage of it for now. I was trying to post 48 new pieces in 24 hours; I couldn’t tell you why. … Continue reading "What All We Do"
she sings the song that seldom strays she waits along the widening ways she dives in deep and dares the days to outshine her persistence the candle’s muse, magnificent intrepid, but yet innocent with badinage abandonment the path of no resistance
in rings, we fight our battles or commemorate our loves; we shine them up to show them or we hide them beneath gloves we live within them all the time: our rings of foes, of friends – all symbolize a finitude that somehow never ends
people make images; images make people. you can’t find meaning in life unless you take it with you on the search, but you can’t take it with you unless there is meaning in life. love is not about what you say, it’s about what you do; but saying you love someone is among the things … Continue reading "dichotomies and binaries"
my father’s way was one that i had trouble taking by; for many were his silences, but still some time to cry my father’s way went through the wood and into clouded lands, upon a path of ancient dirt, made out of shifting sands there’s permanence among the trees, there’s trouble, too, as well; the … Continue reading "my father’s way"
sometimes, attenuated, we sit pensive and alert we hear the sirens daily, and it’s cause for some alarm if we could make the world just not less beautiful it might then be enough to do no harm