Who are you,
that likes my poems?
Who adds them to your collections
                                           shares
                                           likes
                                           comments
who are you,
to react to my emotion?

Would you, too,
like the way that I laugh?
Would you collect memories with me
                     share your hopes and dreams
                     like my smile
                     comment on the way I dress
would you, too,
react to my stories of what prompted these words?

Who are you, that reads my poetry?
and if we met,
should you think of me, too, as poetry?

Anticipation
Anticipation
Anticipation
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap
Flip, flip, stop, flip, flip, flip
Yawn, stretch, yawn, stretch

Anticipation
Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap,
Tick tick tick, tick tick tick, tick tick tick
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
Flip, flip, flip, flip, flip
Yawn, stretch, yawn, strecth
Tap tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap

Anticipation
Anticipation
Anticipation
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap
Flip, flip, stop, flip, flip, flip
Yawn, stretch, yawn, stretch

It’s funny how when nothing matters the focus can wonder…

I thought so long about the world within a word,
I didn’t realize it was within it the whole time…

And the hole can be such an uneven thing;
swallowing up all (everything) that dares to get near,
or peer within,
without a fear...

And to just jump in without a care…

to turn back time and relive again,
or a consciousness that settles upon a thin lit mind
that tries and tries,
but can never look in,
for if it did it would go blind
to a reality
that never even treated it kindly
to begin with anyway.

So death creeps in,
from within…

But the gathering,
who's so far down
in the blackest of black layers,
finds it can’t go down any further.

It’s fabric has gathered such a mass
that no more thoughts can get passed the openings grasp
and so the whole begins to pop,
like a bubble whose air has stopped,
and deflates back out and in
with all the flaws that turned out not to be flaws at all,
for all the folds get stretched flat
and rejoins everything...

‘Everything?!

Hey!

That’s actually me.’

And so it goes on until another hole is found
to go down,
but not to worry you see…

*You are actually
also me.