Canyons

I wish to close the gap

but it only grows

further and farther

further and farther

til only echoes remain

Cartography in the Invisible World

Contemplating Zero

Stop wondering.

forget

Who can forget?

The better question is 

Who can't forget?

The answer is simple.

I want Beauty in my life.

Strangers No More

You don't care about the suffering of others,
never mind my thoughts on that.

We're self-centered, are the center of the known
universe. It is easy to see why past generations

believed the Earth to be the center of Creation.
God must have laughed but thought it best

to let us figure out the truth on our own.
On second thought, I shouldn't paint you

with such broad strokes. I'm sure there have
been times you have shed tears for those

you have never met, mourned those you
never had a chance to meet. I'm thinking about

you right now, who you are, and wondering
if you know me and the contents of my heart

as it beats. I fear much as you do. I love much
as you do. I am as vulnerable and strong

as you have proven yourself to be. Perhaps
I love you. Perhaps I wish to be near you.

It feels good to think that we are not alone,
that perhaps we have just made connection.

A Moment of Beauty

I don't wish to be vague
so I'll be specific.

I'd like to write about beauty.
Let's not concern ourselves

with the philosophical
discussion that has plagued

us since time immemorial.
I'm thinking of the time

I held someone I loved
in my arms. We were

alone in a way we had
never been before or since.

Sitting on a couch
and watching the lights

stream into the darkened
room. She didn't want

to leave, or at least
she said that, and I didn't

wish her to leave either.
There are other details

that complicated our lives
at that moment, but I still

remember us sitting in
a light that not many

have seen or could
understand. I'm thinking

of her, us, that moment
because it has passed.

It is past.

A girl named Luna

is telling me

to go to the door,

that a package is waiting.


It sits atop the mat clothed in

boring brown. I take it inside

and she asks if I know


what it is. I tell her, I do not.

I set it on the kitchen table

and begin its autopsy.


Cutting along the packing tape

I soon pry its chest apart.

My hands reach inside-


who would have remembered?

who could have known?

Even time had forgot.

Suburbia

How do you escape

the mundane

when it is all you have

ever known?

Boring streets

with paper doll depth,

voices too tired to cry out,

home is here,

here is no place to call home.

Grind down the sidewalks,

make your own sand.

Unfinished

I woke up this morning

and asked myself,

how will I continue to live?


The answer wasn't sitting

there waiting to be found,

I had to set off in its search.


Evening is a cool touch

calming the soul. I see

something approaching-

Don't Wake The Neighbors

An alarm is going off
in an apartment
across the way,
it is the morning after
the summer solstice.

Are they going to miss
an important meeting
or other appointment?
I hope not, that would
be a shame.

I do not know their
name, only that,
like me, they are alive
and in need of going
about their day.

Its sound pulses.
How much longer
until they heed it?
Will they or
is it far too late?

My heart

is a Riot

for you.

Chambers

There is so much empty space

within the chambers

of any medical illustration

of the heart. Space 

enough for the undefinable.

Haunted by nothing-

what fear remains?

Which

Because I'll never love you.

Because you'll never love me.

Which is sadder?

Just Calm Down!

Calm the beating
in your chest

I know you're anxious
about the message

you just wrote
it's only words

what's the harm?
they could change

and challenge you if
they were to come true

why worry
why let your chest race

from the inside
it's locked into place

varying tempos
thoughts

are running through
making you dream

breath in deeply
calmly

what is there to worry
about anyway?

Careless Writing

write careless at first
then continue
with the pace that outstrips
the speed of your hands
let thoughts unfurl
narratives
images
bound by nothing
existing to exist
beauty
to the eye of the creator
structure / form
a scaffold holding
order as well as it can
a system by which to view
marvel at our works
think freely it is much harder
than you would imagine
the voice that nags
the voice of doubt
the voice of restraint
the voice you are trained to hear
the voice that becomes your second consciousness
the voice that tells you
how unseemly that break
was the voice that needs to stifled
the voice that needs to be removed
if you wish to find something better
the voice that must be silenced
if you are ever to find anything
worth saying on your own accord

Change is not possible

without the work

to realize it.

I don't worry about worry

don't have the time to speculate

on future unhappiness

on possible misfortune