The beauty of eyes
When examined too closely
Is a disaster

I don’t  remember the last time I kissed a galaxy,
I don’t remember what it feels like to be seen.
I can’t remember the last time I touched a star,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

The sun wants to know how you light up the night,
The moon wants to know how you glow, it’s amazing.
I want to know how you burn so bright,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

Only Jupiter holds a storm like your heart,
Only the stars give you worthy praising.
The space in between us is far too great,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

The night sky holds all of our dreams,
The morning sun will soon be raising.
I don’t think I've seen a star shine like your eyes,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

There’s a place I know where we could never go,
But it’s the most beautiful place I've seen.
And there's no one I’d rather take than you,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

I can do it-
because I have no other option.

maybe if you texted me some other time
besides the wee hours of the morning,
when i am nestled in my bed
willing my mind to dream of anything
other than you.
maybe if you texted me some other time
besides the wee hours of the morning,
when you finally worked up the confidence
or maybe just the stupidity
to say what we both know is true.
maybe if you didn't wait
until there was no blood left in your veins
and only alcohol
to send me a message
we could have a conversation about the past and present.
maybe if you didn't tell me
how much you missed me
when i know that you will confess if all to her
i wouldn't be so afraid to tell you that i miss you too.
maybe if you texted me some other time
besides the wee hours of the morning,
you would get a reply.

Rhyme night with light.
Rhyme love with dove.
Rhyme pain with razors,
and when that's not enough
mix in some words about heartbreak and the mock-laughing moon.
Catch some eyes, smoke some starlight.
Dream about raves full of lasers.
Drink till you're on the floor,
then shut the door.
And lie alone in your room.

Smoke.
Drink.
Live.
Die.
Wait for the pain
to make way for the high.

That's the path to the floor where I lie.
The train's in motion.
Its brakes are broken.
I guess that means I'll see you all soon.

Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperment for getting on.

The hundredth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognized that he was lost.

"Where am I?" Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.

If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in minature.

Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?

All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.

Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go which way I please?

Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.

His absolute pre-supposition
Is - Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.

The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.

My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.

If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.

All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."

Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.