Light makes it way into my hospital room,
Opening my eyes and staring up at the IV
Feeling some holy ghost beside me.

They all say ill get better soon,
Should i keep asking when ill leave this room?
TV’s off, alone with the beeping noises
And hallowed hallways with creeping voices.

This pain I feel was done out of love
The feeling, the rush, the penetrating buzz,
Time seems to slow when the body feels broken
A gesture, a wave, a  fragmented motion.

Home sweet home, yearning for your peace
The doctor calms me down and tells me im released.

Ive had to stop answering the phone,
Because your absence taught me how to be alone.
The pictures overhang like collapsing waves,
And i view it only on holidays.

My island is all my own
And i visit with regularity
The water is pristine
And sunlight not unlike that of Montreal or Milan,
Athough ive never been.

Ive stopped going to church
The chapel is far to high
And these days only broken bottles speak.
Not to mention my demanding job,
Short order cook, 40 hours a week.

I miss that Island all my own,
The silent rivulet beneath the sands,
The sunbeam grips this sleepless land.

Now a man of 29, I have seen an acceleration of promotion, advertisment, and a willingness to gather and hoard materal goods. The endless yearning for things; The heart now constrained by eternal forces, and a world system  which has created a hallucinatory world full of false doctrines.

Prosperity. Perhaps that word means something different for every human being. A faded picture of a loved one, slightly ripped, covered in dust, is a possesion that can fill the eyes with water, tears of joy knowing someone loved you regardless of your rank, status, or creed. The soul and heart should be affluent or character decays by the day.

My consciousness has stubbornly resisted the glorafaction of materalism and yet i want what i want.

The lonely man emerges from this chaotic universe.

there’s some comfort in the darkness, some serenity among the silent shadows.

He tries to recapture the lost years,

and forgets so perhaps he can forget the immobility of these soft tears rippling against his cheek like a puddle in spring.

Only Phantoms pursue his heart.

No long does life sustain the pain of an absurd age.

The sounds of human life
The herd's steady gaze
Peering at campsites.

Red valleys full of travelers,
With openness in their eyes.

Bulky shapes in the distance
With indigo hues,
Spiders skitter across the dunes
I thought “how slowly they move”

Lead us to that inaccessible horizon
Over rocky hills and ancient tracks
Covered in euphoria leaves,
So, in the end, we may stop and breath

Such a long life lived without ever having felt the skyline
Or seen the bayous by themselves, and not tainted by other eyes.

Such  luminous lilies living nearby-  riding near the grapes and vines and wild things

Such is life, the Lord let us live for so long

I noticed her fragrance first
like a rose without thorns,
had she noticed me?
had she seen my pages torn?

We walked to a small stream,
where the heron stands
and tender leaves move unnaturally.

I noticed her ancestral hands,
strong, with immaculate structure
like the temple of Artemis.

We talked and her eyes seemed emboldened
and trust me, I noticed.