Walking home late
from a festive dinner,
I caught a glance inside
some living room window
and saw two women innocently shifting

The end of the calendar draws near
to close to this bitter-strange year.

March was marked by a quiet,
No parades, drinking or revelry

to mishonor of our country's patron
Saint. Silence gripped the land, I float

though a ghost-town
and feel the kenopsia
of society abandoned.

Spring blew into summer
which passed quickly to
fade in the fall as winter
begs darkness, inevitable.

October was dead, no signs
of life save the reappearance
of some old friends, symptoms
of the muse. The annual festivities

were quite subdued, and it will surely
be a questionable New Year. Luckily
a shooting star crossed my sky as I

cycled home on the estival solstice.
For me that marked the end
of the year two-thousand-and-twenty,

I fear the net is becoming
dystopic in the Huxleyan sense,
Much of it is now ruled by algocracies.

¶rovidence favored Big Tech's undertaking:
They tapped the attention-economy, our drive
to create, consume and pass comment on content;

To think of our modern communications,
Those strings of code, packets of data
travel across the globe. So many
transmissions, matters so complex
achieved with such ease, and words
exchanged without a thought for eaves'.

Some messages wander odd paths,
Signed communiques, cyphers
and other cryptic methods
to verify information
and keep secrecy intact.
Lucid whispers
in the static

Walking the estate
of my childhood,
Of adolescence.
Nostalgic loneliness.
The awe of discovery,
A life under lamplight.
Listen, naked trees shiver
in the winter chill, touched
by almighty rain-clouds. μ-Ziq plays Goodbye,
Goodbye.

Walking the city
I grew up in,
I grow old
here. Belonging;
History. I lost myself
in study, the humanities
which I dabbled in and other
dark arts. Forbidden knowledge,
Unspoken ethics. Ineffable wisdom,
Experience.

I sacrificed my creativity at the alter of some therapy.
I relapsed on existence, tortured by egotism.
I wandered off in a hurricane, chased
by something, it brought me beyond
our breathable atmosphere. I'm alright with it,
This. Whatever I feel; I live.
God does not give me strength but,
Nothing will. Being and darkness envelope
everything
becomes a comfort; safe
here.

I don't need to tell you
how much or how sorry,
Truly, I'm losing it, this, my

passion, my hopes for music
and writing. I am in longing
for the session, in memory;
Fleeting, I don't seem to be here, so I become
so much and way less than who I was back then.
I'd give you my arm, my neck, any body part you'd
accept. Those things just weigh on me.
I wanted to stare down mydriasis,