(0.) Even though the irony it has 1 dot.
All is contained.

1.
Infinite dots yet so perfectly lined up.
0 is infinitely small while 1 is already so long.

2.
4 directions to us so normal. X-ray vision but we don't care because its not about us and because of the limit we see yet potential something we like to forget.

3.
This is all there is. It's important to some in the future and to some in the past which both cant be seen yet all we can imagine because small is too small and big is too big. Also has the biggest potential because of its infinite directions yet so finite in our heads.

4.
All is the same. No past or future here.
To them we are also seen in xray yet they don't seem to care either. 2. Was too small while 4. Is too big. Yet existence is, and even though in cycles, but is.

5.
4. Was too much so what do I know about this one? Maybe here to exist and not to is the same thing as in 4. Where future and the past are the same...

Sure you still have the eyes of all seeing?
Yeah you do actually. There would be no world or no, no world. There would be no you since you are all that is. Bigger yet smaller than everything. Should you disappear, there will be everything missing once more.

ND
1944-2018*

You taught me how to write
it took me too long to write this.

When you died,
the nurses combed your hair

and put your favorite perfume on
your neck.

without you I am nothing
and a ceaseless
mess

but for you
have kept
living

in 1967 you had a daughter,
born dead.

you never visited her
grave  you didn't want to know where it was

but your husband did.
and the first person he told about you was her.

she was born with
lemon yellow curls stuck to her head.

the pain is so much
but not as much as your beauty

i will learn to live without you  as
you would have wanted it

racing matchsticks down storm gutters
i still don't believe in god.

But if there is a hell
that means there is a heaven

I would take eternity of
darkness and iron hot
pokers

if it meant you could be
with your lost daughter
and hold her.

Four blocks, yet more to come
Derelict hopes are crushed by the
Perpetual, cacophonous blast of the
Somme.
My brethren wail for fears their mothers will pay them a visit.
I juxtapose my own existence in this war machine.

(I can hear them in my sleep)

My ears are ringing a ballad,
A barber shop quartet echoing;
Paradox’s that fester in the inferno.
A ticket to my ever-so soon visit,
Rage.

Am I but mere kindling to the flames of the Somme?

1/17/2018

"the going into winter and never coming out."
-frank o'hara

the lights of nassau
***** and white
like raw pearl

shining down on my shoes
and
i, moldering and wicked,

sitting on bank steps.
you held your hand out for me
but i stood up by myself

this is how it happened
simply put, and no
metaphor.

you say to sit and talk
i know where talking is
red gravel i kick up like i had

before
and all i see in the cold and the dark:
your pupils, your hands

held out again
i would be dumb to take them
a month ago, dying for a lack of you

and now i try to catch time by its tail
but i can't
for time isn't an animal

it could have fooled me,
by the way it slinks and sidles
in the dark of the woods.

sitting in Anacostia,
on the phone with you,
dead roach on sidewalk

so long ago
back to reality:
you ask me if it's alright

and i say yes
i let anything happen to me
and everything happens to me.

i can not hold on to it
time is in the air
but what i can try to do is remember it.

*II*
my life is lived in the past
a life not worth living
a life not respected

there is nothing
i can do about this
i think, as i walk to my car.