I am just a vessel
for Your love.
That is my purpose,
That is my treasure trove —

You give me words,
You give me visions,
You give me actions to disperse from a safe cove,
Out to a hurting world;
Operating out-of-body and not in ‘safe mode’ —

We ****,
We pilage,
We sacrifice, not for,

But each other;
Destroying humanity —

For a three-second hit of dopamine,
That we can get freely from one another.

I was the architect of my own fall.
It had been easier to open my hands helplessly
than to clench fists against bullet-scarred walls.

Transgression: naivety in passivity.
Penance: the loss of trust
that I could shine with my own pure light.
I withdrew, leaving behind the space I had carved.

I hid, healing myself in silence,
for in that place, dreams were safer.
Hunger remained hunger,
longing remained longing.

I chose to carry guilt myself
rather than admit that I had been broken:
the stubbornness of a frayed razor
that could not cut through the page.

I was the builder of my suffering
by my own will, seeing the glow in others.
I was warm water,
shimmering in a thousand drops.

The world didn’t end.
The sun stayed, the wind still blew,
and the trees stretched out their arms to me.
Everything that came after was easier,
no longer hurting so much.

I am sitting on a bench in the gold-red park,
watching the leaves, watching this life,
which, in my mind, was different months ago.
But this time I take my face in my hands,
with tenderness to myself,
rebuilding my home, my place.
I know I always deserved it.

please to admit, it is
true & not too deep within,
a scientifically proven and a oddly
curio shop fact,
we are all aliens
to each other, despite,
the overlapping of
a billion permutations
of cellular related associations

our individuating palette's,
the diversity of our genetics,
other than the physics of sharing a planet,
simplest put,
no one can ever
be exactly the same,
the precisely of you or me,
doppelgängers notwithstanding,
our individuation, so incredibly due
to our blessed diversification, that to
subdivide ourselves from others,
is a downward
                                                           facing absolutely ridiculous ideation

and thus we reveal here and (n/kn-ow) that the
only reason we aliens unique nonetheless
can communicate with each other,
regardless of alphabet or character of idiom,
(or idiots of character)
is
all alien beings love to breathe and speak
intuitively in a pleasing rhyme and meter,
to the ear of our overlapping physique,
and that is why, every tongue is connectable,
and every alpha produces its own poetic creations,
'tis poetic soundings alliterating glue, that molds this planet of aliens
from a tower of babel into a shapely sphere

Be a Poet ...
stop trying
to become one
give yourself up
to the sound

Within your lyrics
are so many
pleadings
feelings disjoint
and impound

Open the gate
and let out the dogs
the last fox
almost over
the hill

Scream
if you must
those whispers betrayed
until all that’s been empty
— is filled

(The New Room: September, 2025)