I feel it creeping up on the outer margins of me
like one cloud trying to overtake another
or dusk draping itself onto an old oak,
a dream trying to invade the probable.

Uncertainty seems like home to me
because when I think I have the truth
I find my way back home
where I can be the dismembered me
and grace seeps into the interstices of my mind
reflecting light in the puddles collecting there.

Doubt seems a dangerous companion
but I take its hand and pull it along with me
because it awakens me from my dusky comfort
and beckons me to the sparkling lagoon of inquiry.

Uncertainty is a favorite cousin
who on occasion texts me
with a pithy Punjab proverb
revealing a mystery worth chasing
to the dark side of the moon.

Winter is again upon me,
I stand at the window
and stare through scenes
of frost and falling snow.

An ache ascends through,
knotting from a dark core,
rising up like a free spirit
congealing lumpen in my throat.

I feel the chill creeping,
rub my arms and shudder,
the fire is burning so low,
and my eyes see dying embers.

The desire to stoke is dulled,
by apathy frozen in time,
my eyes turn to stare
through frost and falling snow.

I was left with nothing
Devoid of my resolve
Stripped of all my vanity
Beaten down
like the path
on the grass of the lawn

I wandered door to door
begging for form
All that was granted
were the curses from
the day I was born

There the rocks
of the wall between us
began to fall
Some rolled down
to the ocean
Some rolled not at all

There was little risk
involved
Just the commotion written
and the false hope
that appals

So I turned back
the grip of time
I cut tbe ropes
that bound

I imagined a place
of perfect form
in the words of
my rhyme

"A" has all the men
40 and up
in love with her

"M" is most likely
a nun

"C" is in the CIA,
or the witness protection program
perhaps a quantum physicist

( you all know
the people
who who I'm talking about)

for all the forlorn
lovers,
who've been spurned,
I share the advice
my mom gave me
"you'll find someone else"
and so, please
don't write you are
*******
angry
or sad,
tell me you
want to ****
the son of a...*****
write about something
else...

(...you can never
go wrong
writing a poem
about
***

men,
make all the women
have big *****)

and for the paranoid poets
just because you are
paranoid
it doesn't mean that
people are not
following you, so,
BEWARE

we have a separate life
here
we exist on comments
we live
on the internet,

we:
the psychotic
the lonely,
lovers
and perverts
and dreamers,
some poets
some mystics
some saints,
most of us, tortured souls
trying to find solace
in the words we write,
and to leave a piece of us
and not fade away
like a shooting star
into the nothingness
of thin air

The mythical chariot
comes again and again to take
me away. I refuse to leave.

You were not like you are today.
I think about the cosmic .The duplicity.
Man builds knowledge.

The eagle does not dive.
Sharpens the talons. Snake invites
him to carry him away for food.

~
Lift the veil from a grayscale morning. Vividly imagistic. An odalisque no more.

Her shape beneath the gown is a foreign land, a series of quiet revelations. Its pattern manifests as pinpricks of light perforating the shirred fabric of his heart.

The preponderance of dream in her eyes becomes a call and response evoking purely imaginary spaces. The contained chemistry is beautifully insular, monochromatic.

And there her lips. Into claustrophobic kiss. This lower register of love comes in unadorned, subtle colorings like the darkest part of night.

One thousand shades of gray.
One single light of white.
And everything merges in the night.
~

I could feel the cool damp air from outside
A gentle weight on the skin, a particular smell
The smell of a night stretched on too long

I tiptoed across the carpeted floor boards
The house was old and I knew it well
Every little area it would groan and creek

I was moving slowly but urged myself faster
This wasn't like other nights, half asleep
Wandering to the bathroom at the end of the hall

No, the house is empty, or should I dare say was
I felt a presence so strong, yet undefinable
As if something was nearly upon me, only breaths away

I avoided deftly the creaky areas of the floor beneath
I felt the give of the wood beneath me as I reached the stairs
This would prove far more difficult to be silent for

Standing at the top I contemplated running down
As fast as my legs could possibly carry me
Somehow though I knew it wasn't the right choice  

As I made my first step down there was silence
I breathed in a sharp silent breath of composure
Continuing to the second step, I winced as I heard a creek

But I stopped and lightly tested the step again
The sound hadn't been caused by me
Quickly my vision darted upwards towards my room

At the far end of the hallway where I had just left
I saw something, a blur like a thick vapor
The shadow black wall behind obscured it

I had no time to peer into the darkness
I sped up, step by step by step
31 steps in total all without a sound

Save for the floor I landed on in my haste
The old house groaned beneath my weight
My neck chilled as I gave in and ran


to be continued...

A cool and close mist
Hangs over the highland shrubs and trees
Wild and tall grasses bend heavy
Laden with the chill dew
of a perpetually hidden dawn
10 lifetimes of experiences
Have I gathered since I entered here
I feel it was but a few hours ago
Though I have not seen the sun
Nor has the darkness of night
Yet begun to creep into these woods
Maybe from a dream or perhaps
I passed it earlier this strange house
A ***** place with slanted roof and chimney
Sticking out of the earth in such a way
That it appeared to be a natural growth
I feel as though it is so very familiar
Though I cannot say why
Or why no matter the direction I turn
Or for how long I walk
I come unto its doorstep again and again
In my mind it has replaced my own home
If ever I did have another
And whoever might have been waiting there
I have long since forgotten
Yet when I reach this house
Time and time again
I cannot muster the courage to reach out
To take hold of the handle and turn it
To enter in to that abode
And here I come again
I see it emerge out of the gentle fog
Comfortably nestled on a hillside
I stand for a moment at the gate
The walk through it and a long a path
Interspersed with a step or two here and there
As it turned inwards and outwards
Ascending the hill into the homes entrance
In a moment I stood at the door yet again
Hand half outstretched towards the ****
I placed my hand upon
Feeling the cool of brass
Yet the warmth of something else
Something half remembered from youth
From years long since entwined with dreams
I turned the **** gently
Not yet feeling the click of the lock
I felt a fresh wind at my back
And I rather spontaneously
Wrenched my hand and wrist
All the way to the right
I could feel the weight I’ll the door
Unhindered by any lock or stop
And I pushed through the humble
Yet mighty wooden thing open
And was greeted by a deepening night
Full of countless radiant stars.