See how this Trodden Commoner invites
With his Self cheers the Hero on the Board
As he predicts his proven Time and Sights
Another Inscrutable Win absorb
So much so it becomes the Nation's Theme
With Married Saints you dear Prince do us Proud
Even if your Light condenses to meme
At least those close to you will share your Cloud
I would only wish for your Halo's Morn
That a Wee Signature you could offer,
Poking your eyes from Dimensions and Form
And just see the Heart which knows no other.
Yes, I know. Seven-by-Ten Digits speak same
Most by Tradition. By nature are Dames.

rain,
peaceful, calm  
pouring, pounding, dripping
cloudburst, drizzle, vapor, condenses
murking, glooming, falling  
shimmering, thin
mist.

The misty fog outside,
condenses into a speckled bedroom glass.  

Through which,
nestled deep under the blanket,
I hear the orchestra of a rainy 8am life.  

Bothered by the unconducted iso-rhythms
of dripping water droplets,
dropping onto the metal window sill,
I peak my head out from under the duvet
and yawn out the stale air from my lungs.  

I notice the coffee left for me
on the bedside table before she left.  
I grasp the warm little blue cup.  

I hear the birds in the trees somewhere below
warming up their sleepy little lungs.  

I close my eyes and feel the cold air
through the window.  
Hiding under my duvet,
I drift back to sleep.

not the milk, you see, is too sweet,
thick, which will rhyme if i write,
for me.

thick like the wool that filled
breaches in the wall, saved the lives.

save some with shelter, needing shelter,
while others lean to watch the birds fly,
talk of the bell tower, and all the implications.

the man parked his car, tidily went to poundland,
bought cards.

sbm.

*notes verb
verb: condense; 3rd person present: condenses; past tense: condensed; past participle: condensed; gerund or present participle: condensing

1.
make (something) denser or more concentrated.

John Scalla remembers
plain–clothed white coiffed nuns
in sunday school classes
who were the sweetest things
you’ve ever seen with a razors edge
carried proudly from an emerald isle

John Scalla spent his sundays digging
through big soft Bibles discovering
a father who loved everyone
as equally as he was thorough
a son born to wear a crown of blood
but never lost his most sacred heart
and a universal spirit’s open-armed
quiet embrace of your trembling frame

John Scalla was born to hold a communion
with something far more complex or
precise then our poor sweaty coils
wondering how bread could be body
and blood so eagerly consumed

John Scalla stole from complex pages buried
deep beneath outdated expressions
and miscommunicated messages
a simple cypher that condenses
all the rhetoric down to it’s square root
love

John Scalla locked the cypher
in that secret spot between heart
and stomach holding it close
dreaming on distant playgrounds
where it was slowly worn away
by bullies still casting long shadows
like limestone sphinxes now noseless

John Scalla’s distant playground dreaming
of a personal relationship with God are gone
because if He was there then that makes him
a single string of an infinitely intricate
vast woven narrative where he is only aware
of adjacent pieces unable to take a firm grasp
of the situation continuing to grow

John Scalla weaves narratives through
his prayers sending them nowhere
because they wouldn’t know where to go
with so many far-off stars dead and leaving
cosmic vibrations both here and everywhere
making it hard for them to escape with
their best intentions unmolested

I've never felt so cold as when you taught me how to feel-
As each stagnant second pushes
The great pulsating vibrato of life
Further and further into
Yesterday,
Until nothing is left but memories
And stale tap water in a ceramic coffee cup:
The trembling scale by which we measure happiness
That is only felt after it becomes a memory.
Who determines the expiration date
Of emotion?
Your warm pulsating skin
And the hottest month in August
Can only be felt in photo albums
And subtle murmurs only heard
Past 3am.
I never meant to get this caught up
In life-
Breathing in the bitter reality
Of fragmented testimonies
Warning me of what's to come
And fragility of time.
Selfishly I **** the marrow out of
Every fleeting moment,
Scattering the bones across the graveyard of my unrequited mind-
A self proclaimed martyr of suffering
And good intentions.
The confinement of my sordid thoughts,
Condenses reality,
Into the tangible.
Freedom is only felt
In the aftermath of an earthquake-
Crumbled barriers now bear remnants of security.
Is this how it is to feel?
The nerves in my finger tips
Are hot and trembling, as I trace the
Faded outline of something too real
To ever be strained out into the world
Of the living.
Time and time again, I remind myself
Of the ineptitude of anything
That isn't born
Within the sacred hours of
Insomnia.
A distorted image scatters across my empty mind,
Casting shadows on the times where
Nothing mattered beyond the moment.
Life breathes in and out
To the rhythm of the broken record
That we relentlessly cram
Into our vacant hearts,
As if trying to drown out the hollow drone
Of the love
Manufactured in Sunday night sitcoms and materialized on Broadway.
Simple actors, we betray our inner wishes,
And sell them in the form of words
To a greedy audience, yearning to be reassured
That they aren't the only ones who mistake pain for something
Pure.
Time and time again,
I repeat my cynical mantra
Through the motion of my feet upon the ground;
Because, history repeats himself
Until emotion can no longer tread
The freezing waters of existence,
Leaving nothing but a trace of
Something that we foolishly lament with the names of a lover,
And drape with the revealing veil of time-
Mistaken for the truth,
And worshiped at the alter of God.

Confessions of  a dull blade, it tasted life as it
seeped and sealed death with Its last ******.

It was inanimate but had existence of life seeped
in to its hilt,Voices silent trapped under the hand

Their grip soaking sealing in fallen silence, looking
in to the eyes of so many and then kissed there forehead.

A last rite the au revoir as the dull blade made slow
Work of a mummer, words bleed silence out.

They cherished this moment of intimacy, this personal
Exchange, of life and death, slumped on soiled ground.

Dull blade, tainted handle, of voices silenced this inanimate
Object of desire that crafted by another's macabre thoughts.

Blood congeals as life condenses into nothingness, walking
Away the dull gift takes it now pride of place.

Spiralling downwards,
Bitter taste of coke slipping in between the bumps on your tongue
And months from now when I try to think about you
I will remember the way you looked at me
And how time stood still
So it felt just like you were standing across from me
Throwing your unsaid medals at my throat
I let them slide down to my chest
It burns
Like the acid streams of coke surfacing my lungs
And I cannot breathe
All I can think about is why do I cross paths with people I am not supposed to fall in love with
Coke sliding down your throat
Swallow your golden apologies you never were brave enough to say
Crackling fizzling drink
I have been in love with you since May
And every look out has been a habit, I still try to find you in a crowd
I still try to swallow the bitter fizzy only slightly sweet taste of coke down my throat
The same way I choke
On every apology I never said to you and how I almost but never did tell you how much your cheekbones remind me of the sunset.
Timeless
This drink will never age and neither will your eyes
Visceral bubbling youthful
I have been waiting on nothing
I feel the acid burn in my throat in my chest and it erupts as I ***** every scent I’ve had of you, every gaze we have exchanged while she looks at you and smiles
Electric
Like the fizz that touches the insides of my stomach
I want to look at you and smile
And all you do is watch me
Sipping through your straw
I am drinking coke
And your eyes say it has been a while and look at me, look at what I do I want to show you what I do because it has been far too long
Child
I am not a child I am a hazy incense drifting through hollow walls, corridors and people infested places
Everywhere I turn I cannot breathe
I need something to quench this thirst of longing
I have collected from every instance I never get to see you, every moment you look at me and she is with you
I want to keep these aluminium tabs
I want to push the bubbles down your throat, tell you this is how I feel every time I look at you and you look at me and we say nothing
I want to tell you I have been doing just fine
And that you are wearing the same shade of red I’ve been feeling and this coke can shares the red we are crying
I want to say I am sorry I looked back and I wished so very hard
Sohrab
You are between these lines the coke can holds, every droplet that condenses on this metal surface, cool
I have something to hold and I don’t know what to feel
Only the acid taste of coke

you chew on coffee beans to cleanse your mouth of this
one long silence
it is open like a wound
it festers

when your breath condenses in the cold air you feel its presence
with icy hands it holds yours
it is patient
it is strict

chewing gum is not sufficient; it is sweet, it makes you wonder
about sugar crystals
they grow like bones
they are brittle

but the taste of blood, of coffee, of chocolate with no milk is good
you can remember without remorse
you can sit and think about dreams
without letting them in

and all your pain can stay subcutaneous
as long as you don’t speak

The moisture congregates on the surface,
and a single drop condenses quickly.
With a blink, it is released.
This salty drip of anguish,
it will crash to the ground below,
or absorb into my clothing,
Until I am drenched, in tears of woe.
One after another, emanated from each cavity,
each oculus becomes clouded, with liquid distress,
as I sit here reduced, to a beautiful, rueful, mess.

I cannot fit in these circles they build me
I cannot be bullied outside my reality
I cannot be dragged in their dark tunnels
I cannot be drugged inside their quarries

                         FOR
When all fades away the 'self' has to be whole
When all shades the 'self' within has to reconnect
The 'self' has it's own shell that crowns it's life
The 'self' is an open field shielded from the storm

My 'self' will not indulge in the mediocre cranes
My 'self' will not be spotlighted for egoistical tunes
My 'self' redeems as it condenses in the mist of the dew
My 'self' is my ultimate repentant, a repellant from the norm

Step 1
"I love you."
Get your ready-made heart
Tender from the bruises
Because of last night's dream about him

Step 2
"I still care for you, as a friend."
Season with salt
Not the type that comes in a box
But the special kind
That comes from his warm breath
And magically condenses on your cheeks

Step 3
"So I like this girl now.."
Let it sizzle
From the uncontrollable jealousy
Let it spit
At that innocent girl
But let's not kid ourselves now
The only thing getting burnt
Is your heart

Unexpectedly
A layer of frost
Surrounds your heart
A defensive mechanism
Now an ice box

Exhausted
From the painful bruises
The salty tears
Burning anger
The icy numbness

Darkness takes over.

Repeat step 1

it was a magical moment
cottonwood falling like snow
sunlight catching the edges
adding halo's glow
gentle floating angel feathers
drifting about from above
we sat enraptured, quiet
basking in simple pure love

moments come to us like that
blink an eye, then they're gone
yet lasting forever, eternity
forever that moment lives on
all of time, of human existence
condenses into that single space
treasure the gift we've been given
experience a moment of grace

We are not the ******* first summer rain, anymore. When heated water vapor condenses and unstable airs break through, we are now as dangerous as thunderstorms, cracking and flashing and desperately wanting to burn the whole sky down.

Anticipation tiptoes from table to table.

My Jelly Roll Soul
Sets sail for Alice’s rabbit hole.

In front of a hushed, hip crowd,
The music condenses into a scarlet cloud,
And originality speaks aloud.

A trumpet sounds,
A subway car rumbles underground,
Signaling all the cool cats
That it’s time to get down.

A virtuoso teases black and white keys,
Shaping notes with subtle expertise.
The closest I’ve ever seen, man come to mastering machine.
Slowing the frenzied, fractured step of the East Village above,
To E’s. Legato ease.

Optional Z’s
Leave many without sleep,
For who could snooze
At times like these?
The alto-sax
Is bending C’s!

Just listen in, on that wailing bassoon,
Who howls to the moon.
It might be noon,
Up there.
But that’s up a flight of stairs,
And I’m enjoying my jazzy state of affairs.

There will always be time for Nostalgia in Times Square.

Tamir is Israeli. I don't know what that means beyond he speaks Hebrew, came at one point from that area, and keeps dark-skinned friends.

I'm trying to cultivate a lethal talent
because one day I want to **** people
by painting them as they are

(and when you're known
as yourself
you have
nothing else)

but all my days are micro montages, characters
grandiose, come and go
drink a beer, do a line, perhaps
chat about the politics of
Germany France UK Belgium a
little high.
and then they go.


this is a great city on maybe
the world's longest coast
and odds are tomorrow, 87%, the whole day will be
grey and fog and a halfdark cloak
with a sort of haphazard mist that isn't rain, but
somehow in the grey condenses enough to
slippen tiles, dampen jackets, water roses
where everywhere it blow.


within four weeks men in black jackets, ties
sunglasses and training will come for me
and though I have accomplished much and
in a way am capable I
will try and throw myself from a nearby cliff and I
dream at night of the *****, of
wonder how far out I'd have to leap
to hit the highway below.
(and honestly politely hoping I
don't disrupt too much traffic when I go)


because there is a life lived and a life worth living and this
molecular decomposition holds
no loyalty on me. but I guess I had some
faith that I would live to....
that I would live.


I saw my life a grand tapestry. thought my
idolatry would eventually
coalesce into at least one great novel, Bildungsroman, tale of
development and
I guess that's been taken away from me.

and I've prepared ill-ly only exercised in
beat/postmodern poetry. l will
maybe soon stumble from the cliffs or
handcuffed bite my wrists, and
take any artery I might rend open

and all particles, unfettered, heartless bits. nonwritten novel, this is it...

there is the west and then there is the ocean.

i’m awakened by the
climb of the chime of your
mirror bell as you zip
above me like the shadows
of the golden metal that echo
in my ear.

but it seeps so strangely under
your clenched fists, as i watch
you pedal and ascend
one knee after another,
as sweat condenses on the
handles, and streamers sputter in the wind.

all i recognize you feel is blur,
and the substance we need
to pedal, fill your mouth and
choke muscle and tendon,
as our cartilage crammed turbines rise and fall
like the pant of your lung as you tricycle
away from the choker covalently
bonded to the first of all that matters.

yet we giggled - we snorted,
while printing the memory
on your chip as the disc swerved away.

rue had let you run over my
toes with our red.
you rose and fell over
the unseen ivory bones; and i pleaded for
a motion of  cyclical squeeze more
potent than a chip and a
wheel gone awry.

such as our disc shattered
in two, i stooped on our
step with palm under arch,
limp from the stubs of nails
that bled out like thorn bush
creaking to the zip code that a
tricycle is no bicycle when one
wheel decides to drift away.

Top down on a rented convertible
The directors, the tabloids,
The husband and kids— leave them
with the city traffic.

The humming of the engine
makes my toes vibrate
as I nudge the accelerator with my
size 11 foot.

I want to see
Azure skies, desert landscape
Lizards basking on rocks.

I’d adopt a coyote
He would teach me how to sing
Because he admires my long nose.

On the road, I feel the
power of abandonment—
Infinite. Priceless. Immortal.

My excitement rises with the speedometer
I would make it to Mexico City by nightfall
The birthplace of my mother.

I write her name in the sky
It waivers with humility
Condenses into streak marks
on my windshield.

Her reflection winks back at me
in the rearview mirror.
Ahead, I see dusk and
the milky colors of city lights.

watching in amazement
dumbfounded and oooh,
the wonder of a cold chill shivers..
upon my spine
down every bone
changing my tone
from wonder
confused
to highly amused

the gears turn so slight
just past twilight
the growl, houls..
of my midnight swoon.

watching with the intent
seemingly full of ideas...
just whisper what you like
you'll see the kitten come out tonight.

little purrs
light loving scratches
watching the toes curl
eyes roll back and close
all of your triggers
to suddenly...
STOP.

end of line,
the thought of you on my mind
as a pair,
the air heats and cools
and the moisture condenses
thrown off
feeling sky high
or a few miles in flight
realizing that hearing the birds
outside..
we're up all night
playing online.

Upon the dry afternoons,
the heavens tremble violently,
thick with a fathers fear,
that condenses into anger.
The sky must some day fall,
and i think it knows that.
The sun blisters its back,
and the mountains splinter its side,
but still it lurches forth,
the chained gardner to earth,
content to look down and see,
his lover still shares his suffering.

Among the muddied morn'
Gaia quivers indefinitely,
full with a mothers worry,
that solidifies into pain.
The ground must someday slip,
and i think it knows that.
Time has curved her posture,
and weather shows her age,
but still creaking forth,
the spinning ballerina's curse,
and the infidelity of the truth.

We dine off of  hearts
goaded from the sea.

Hearts drawn to dead promise
and
cold hooks.

The gills
taste metallic
and the flesh is sweet
with mercury.

The haul is yanked overboard,
and the tuna fly
like angels of vengeance
to our dinner tables
where wine
condenses the poisoned bodies
into forkfulls
of pleasure.

The meat is sweeter
than anything we have ever tasted,
we hope that it puts us to sleep.

Not wanting to ****
or cherish
the bones of each other's bodies
has led us to gorge
on these fish,
these harbingers
of comas
that we are too awake
to realize
are the dreams of the stars
filtered through the
diamond-studded
rollers of the Pacific.

The blue and cold Pacific
it pumps out
the fuel for restaurants.

Restaurants
where we gnash our teeth silently
against oily meat.

Restaurants
where I have a drink
and you have a drink
and we have our fill
on vicarious oceans
that decay in the parties
of our bellies.

Tonight we will sleep
because we are drunk
with poisoned meat.

Robbed meat.

Catastrophic
is the grinder of your mouth.

A goaded heart
is an atomic bomb
and we have our fills on them.

Until we no longer want to ****.

The mercury
courses.

The waiter
dashes back and forth.

The cook
slices and dices.

The fishers haul in a line
ten-ton lines of bycatch.

All for a single forkful
of the most sugary
thing
two people can share
when their bodies
are useless
and wheezing for the oxygen
of a purified love.

I miss you and my skin shivers
The heaves of the flying engine
The sky of our heavens angel
Amiss and my soul webbed in a bay
As the mist of the dew condenses
The waters flows in our artistry
Our chemistry a fizzle unreactive
Our feeling dances as a spirit of its own
The miss and want to walk my finger
Rest it on your bare hairless chest
The miss to walk and pluck a hair
Resourcefully induce a prickly pain
I miss you and my tear flitters
On the trail of the cave I touch
****** the walls that hang your heart
I miss you as we shield our soul and shell
At the crossroads where the devil turns

Deep perfume seeps still from the fallen rose Down down endlessly  
filling the air with all that is pure, and soon all that is not    
diamonds glisten upon its skin Sparkling in the summer heat, he  
knows this won't be the end

moisture condenses around his roots, the tree growing up into  
heaven, life surging around him, springing, growing, ripping  
through the thick and crusted earth. Pun i ca gra na tum is such a complex word for what here has come to pass. the roots shooting     down and spreading, their mirrors filling the sky, soaking up our  
shining beams of phantasmal brilliance.

Only those loved have names wouldn't you Agree some are special 
to the producing world, and Others are left to rot, take the fruit of a morning lily, no one loves her, yet she bears all the same

something stirs within his being, some new body grows out from  
inside, some new some new some new something new. The sky fills
with blood espousal carillon, their pods filling rich and new,  
chiming out for all to hear the dawn rising, the birds flying, yes,
hear them fly above as you watch their song paint the sky in cool
purples and blues.

Color is so trite and love is so outdated and there are those who
wish for the end of the world as well Creation falling to the Ground
as the rosebud does in winter

united in final ecstasy, the bells descend as dying mistrals unveil
our sinking crown, sound-bow dripping away

I love the energy of night
You can feel it, you know-
Seeping out of the ground,
Filling the air with and electric buzz
Sleepy people also release energy
Out, out to the night,
Until very late
When even it grows tired and still
And the energy condenses into dew
Until morning.

The soft light touches me like a breeze,
Like a million gentle kisses on my body.
Rushing at me, drenching me, embracing me.
Rippling as I walk closer,
Swirling over my hands.
My dress becomes heavy with the dew of silver,
Dripping from the hem,
Plashing into little pools by my feet.
It condenses on my skin,
Becoming diamond tears, rolling down my arms and face,
Leaving shining rivulets behind.
My hair flicks the sparkling drops, bejeweling the air as I run
Closer, ever closer into the light.
I open my mouth to laugh.
The sweet light rushes down my throat,
Violently, suddenly, choking me.
I fall among the illumined puddles, splashing, floundering, drowning.
A black wave sneaks over me, I fight it.
Vainly pushing against the tangible darkness
The light! The light is growing dim.
I crawl towards it, laugh turned to scream.
Why won't it save me?


I awake with the taste of a beautiful dream
Broken.
Shining rivulets turned to scars on my skin,
Light to dark,
Love to hate,
How could something so beautiful, be so ugly?

Land dwelling creatures occasionally fly
They float on abandoned vessels
Then launch into the sky
Fall back into the ocean
A salty sea wave ride
Too soon altitude sickness sets in
And rain clouds dispel innocent pretenses
Perfect days give way to reality
A daydream ocean inevitably condenses

Navigating his way past screeching taxis,
Unperturbed pedestrians,
And vibrant street performers in the city,
A young boy scurries down the street,
Smiling ear to ear.
He extends his arms perpendicularly to his body,
Propelling his body left and right,
Pretending to be a jet plane.

He is meeting a girl today.
And not just any girl;
An angel.
At least that’s how he sees it.

In his left hand, the boy carries a rose.
Grown from love, it’s dashingly large;
A symbol of his exuberant feelings,
It’s a gift for the girl,
And an invitation to a first date.

In his pocket, the boy carries an iPod shuffle.
Giddy with optimism and bliss,
The boy’s heart skips to a romantic pop song.
He proudly waves his rose through the air as he moves.
Holding it like a microphone,
And not bothered by judgement,
He sings the lyrics to the song aloud.
He’s in love,
And he wants the whole world to know.

As he scuttles ever closer to their arranged meeting place,
The boy grips the rose tighter now,
Guarding it with his life.
He sinks into a daydream,
Thinking about her:
The way the sun amplified her splendid complexion,
The satisfying fluidity with which she would say his name,
And how she giggled as he pushed her back and forth on the swings.

Nearly out of breath, the boy arrives at the street corner.
He spots the girl immediately,
And a thrilling tension condenses in his chest.
The girl bestows him a smile,
But she looks agitated and in a hurry.
Unable to contain himself much longer,
The boy extends the rose out her,
Revealing to her not only the gift, but also his feelings.

“No thank you,” she says lucidly.

The boy’s smile fades and his cheeks turns pallid.
Though in a state of disbelief,
He accepts her verdict with civility.
The girl offers genuine condolences, but shows no signs of regret.
Covertly, the boy holds back his emotions and bids her farewell.
But as he walks away, he’s overcome by an unfamiliar, rankling feeling,
And his heart plummets like a raindrop falling from the sky.

As he wrestles with his grief,
The boy begins to weep and loses grasp of the rose.
It tumbles out of his hand,
Only to be violently stolen by the wind,
Sullied by the filth of the sidewalk,
And trampled by people passing by.

How does one begin to write a poem?
First one condenses an entire life down into just one line-
Clouds, dandelions, adoration, revenge; don't hold anything back.
The peaceful smile of death and the rancorous
Death of joy. The bubbles of happiness floating upward
The downward stinging tears of defeat.
The best, the worst, the last, the first:
Embellish that line from your life's story with
All the rarest moments of worship and awe you've ever known,
And keep writing it over and over again, saying it
Millions of different ways till it is firmly ensconced in your soul.
Don't take any magic for granted; it's too rare in this world.
Dreams and visions and nothing sugar coated:
The truth alone rules this kingdom.
Nobody reading this deserves the lie.
Don't forget the startling epiphanies
Seeping out of the souls troubles and careless wounds.
Sometimes you squeeze out every drop and still
The pickings are scarce; other times things bound and leap out-
Wild, prolific hares, carelessly raking each other in their haste.
Always capitalize on the moments you thought might be your last-
Allow the teardrops and sweat to mix freely; swirl your pen in it
And apply to all the reopened ulcers and healed over scars.
Just before you think it is enough, just when the tale
Begins to half conclude, stop there and allow your audience
Imaginations machinery to supply the last vivid details:
Leave some openings; don't sew it up too tight.
Most important of all; read all the poets now alive
Still with the breath of life in them.
They can show you the way.
And never sell yourself too cheaply.
Write only from the particular universe hidden inside;
Staying true to that one.

The last thunderstorm ends
with a kiss,
eyes close on smiles
remembering you like this...
like some small raw
epidemic of love
planting seeds in the aftertaste
of ecstasy,
forming thoughts as mountains
make mist,
condenses the rest of this world
to shadows in the fog,
like a morning wish
of no regret.

I have always lied to tell the truth.
I play games so that others may win.
Everything matters so much
     that I don't care about it.
If I think enough
     I'll forget everything.
I am the King of Shadows
     important only to the beings who exist in silence and dust.
I turn to stone if I sit still
     to find myself in a tranquil garden of such beauty
     with colors that possess a vibrancy that has never been seen.
I feel emotions through time
     those that no human can feel.
I fall through the comfortable, red-black safety
     into the clarity of the vast depths of the dark blue.
My body is made perfect as I succumb
     and my mind awakes.
I watch as the violin's music condenses into love before my eyes
     the deep, sonorous chord tears the poison from my mind.
I feel the light blue surges of life in my veins when I am alone.
I sit with mountains until we are one.
My eyes can never become unclean
     my soul is blemishless.
There is quiet wonder in Life
     the love in her eyes is so evident
     her smile so tender
     so quiet.
This shall be where I lay my head
     this is the reality I choose.

when i was young
i never intended on living to adulthood
    i didn't have any dramatic plans for my death
    but i hadn't planned for the contrary, either
and so
time rolled on, the way it does
and through pure neglect
i found myself here
   alive today

and the years keep passing, the way they do
time's funny that way:
it increments in loops;
      another year forward,                
      another revolution of the same.

when i was younger
i didn't believe in the future,
i still don't, but now i find,
that the present tends to stick around.
and one's seeming imperative thoughts and actions,
one's urgent sparks of actuality,
aren't flames of some eternal logos,
but are more
the random shower of a Catherine wheel
spinning aimlessly on a pike

and so, through sheer inertia
the world keeps on turning
and you with it
till one day
you stop
and are left
disorientated and thrown
into a wall

i'm not sure what i'm trying to say here,
or if this maudlin sentimentality amounts to much
but if i had any truism
from my time spent,
it would be this:

the self is a clear plate of glass
onto which meaning condenses like steam
at first invisible to yourself,
you become aware of your shape through
the foggy coalescence of the things you cherish.
but sometimes,
those meanings become too much to bear
and they condense
into a liquid
and silently drip off.
then
maybe you wait,
slowly drying out,
for the process to hopefully start all over again
but in the mean time
you're left there,
gently and vacantly
estranged
translucent

and damp

Out of billions
I stand alone
Watching the gift of smiles
Float over my head
I grasp for a hand
But only catch air
Others flooded with love
Flee from my desert
Only one lingers
My hands flutter around him
Searching for the perfect embrace
But he evaporates
And condenses far from me
However, love blossoms from the distance
He fears this passion
For being drenched
Doesn't belong with the dry
But he nudges towards me nonetheless
Radiance begins to overflow us
Desert sand turns to glass
And I am gone,
Invisible to his eyes
I guess it was just meant to be-
That out of billions
I stand alone.