Distant Earths

i could hide
for a hundred
thousand years

and still emerge
with the same spectrum
of debilitating fears

avoidance does nothing
to avail our evolution

for the breadth of our experience
carries on in our dearth

and distant earths
may yet reveal
our present form unknown

nonetheless

a consciousness
cannot eclipse
its own immortality
for all eternity

and yet . . .

[image credit: Fumihiro Kato]

As I

i thought about writing
a suicide note

what it will say
if anything

to whom it will be addressed
if anyone

what each person will think
if anything

most people
will never find out

alas
there is no cause for alarm

we are here

we are gone

i have no wish
to see the sun

i know what role this life permits me

only in death
is freedom found

i do not need to be remembered
to be free

. . .

i love you.

i love you like a dying star
loves a midnight sky
through eyes of innocence

the wrath of time’s restraint
it paints the moon
as i lay silent

casting off abandoned scars
and erstwhile sentiments unsung

in shadows of our truths untold

let me not spiral
into such hollow affectations

of this entropy transposed

so grave is its disparity
in remnants
left behind

written on walls
in exile unseen
surrendered

to the aftermath
unknown

with nothing
left
to say

we languish
in our broken idyll

so duly run its course

as i

Invalid

you didn’t click like

that’s all I needed
to know

forget the fact
that you might not
have seen it

that you might
be inundated
with the incessant burdens
of life’s duress

forget
the fact
that life exists
for you
outside of myself

but most of all

forget

that you
might not
have actually liked it

Hollow

this pithy endeavor

shadows of dust
masquerading through time

i looked away
laughing

returning
to barrenness

the warmth
of her touch

once
insisted eternity

how quickly
it vanished

seen
through open eyes

this sand
shifts beneath us

swallowing memories

until we are hollow

devoid
of our sentiments

i still walk beside her

footsteps
in spectral snow

when all
turned to nothing

and she was no longer

and i

left behind

[image credit: Odilon Redon]

Precipice

stranded
between the contrast
defining the moon

a face
e’er blazoned
to man

dark
and unseen

vibrant
and garish

either
is not
what it seems

Ode to Zechariah

long before light
cleft the heavens in twain
a movement
of manhood emerged

unlike the unsavory
dissidents prior
his was a station deserved

he fostered conviction
amongst the rapt populace
stoically instilling mindful revolt

fully apprised of philosophies spoken
unlike static sophists consisting of molt

fervent emotions born of empathy
ever consuming his radiant heart
salient locution so poignantly posed
lingered long after he bid to depart

tales of his august aplomb echoed through the vales
prose poised to avail the downtrodden denizens

parlance empowering dispelled compatriots
apposite to proletariat wards

forged in the fires of familial defect
stuttering sopor
societal ire

nonetheless, pwning the epic drum solo
from “too hot for teacher” when he was but twelve

not having given an “F” he sought “T”
and tempered his mind with the breadth thus required
of the scant few i regard as elite
he is one by whom i’m duly inspired

Deep within this tattered husk lies the hope
to someday avow this Marxist of a man
of every last tender kiss wrought by his words
intended for naught but to better this land

Accept, Allow

red, green, and blue

black, white, and gray

quiddity
is not a crime


if not for your lips
as they rest on your face

would your kiss then
no longer be yours

is ego content
with ill-gotten conclusion


your virtue
my heart doth avow

to all the world
this
i shall ever aver

requite not these words
with the burden of speech

in tacit skies
we remain boundless

unwinding allusions
to infinite realms

where idyll
submits not
to idealization

 

 

[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]

In Truth

in truth

i am nothing

if not
for this
suffering

fleshed
of sighs

in nuanced
rebuttal

abjection
from sanity

lost

spectrums span
ceaselessly

i dare be sworn

to behold

the bane
of my dedition

Man-Made Mood

suicide
can swoon you
come the solstice moon’s
return

in spite of its obsequious attendance
on the fives and tens

some would even say
it was romantic

though i’m not inclined
to justify your prying
either way

airing such affairs
errs most uncouth
besides this documenting

circumstances
spare no time to tarry

only in the spongecake
of a soft and silky
skull-bound stockade

does a tolerance
evince

alas, these are but
ramblings
of a mordant
man-made mood

so pardon me
for pissing
on your balsamine
impatiens

[image credit: Frantisek Kobliha]

Lost Expression

all that i desire to say
can be found lost in my expression
enshrouded by archaic airs
arbitrary to my intentions

are these conscious thoughts of truth
in conflict with my hidden layers
or is it pretense so aloof
driving rifts through solemn lair

this much i may never know
and such it is i must accept
that all i might forever show
should be not what my heart reflects