I float among an ether,
As we all do I suppose--
An ether of numbers,
A zeitgeist of digital woe.

Jim Croce once sang
Of his having a name.
A member of this world, yes,
Singing the individual refrain.

The place where I live,
They desire community;
But it’s all contrived--
We’re just dollar signs in unity.

Sadly, we will be nothing more.
We’ve been lulled to a desperate sleep.
This ether of digital zeitgeist
Will not our souls to keep.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O, fearful meditation! Where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
    O, none, unless this miracle have might,
    That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

I have been long gone
I kept my memories
in a suitcase
preserved like fossils
in the museum of my room
but I will carry them with me
as I stumble on the
next thing
that falls in front of me

I have had mistakes
that tried to knock
on the walls of my mind
but it's about time
my brain learns
from practice
over and over
not to fall for their emotions
but to know how to cope with them

I have had moments
that tattooed smiles
on every neuron
creating memories
of moments
that I seek sanctuary in
whenever I find the need to

I have had the idea of change
marinating in me
almost forcing me to believe it
to live it, to breathe
then...

I have had you to look
into my eyes
sometime later
telling me to
"stop faking it
it's always
been you"

I have never enjoyed
the rain as much as I did
the night I bumped
into you
walking adamantly
to a destination
that I wished
conjoint
with mine

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages

Now,

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
summoning
their hands just
to let them out

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
OH THEY LOVE,
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land

they  reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
potion
but not all of it

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind

What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing

For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
they
live

depression
is an ocean.
at times, it ebbs.
at others it flows.
forever it endures.

depression
is a dead tree.
ripping apart wilted
leaves, adrift
in windswept currents.

depression
is an ant hill.
fit to burst
with activity, but
simultaneously stationary.

depression
is a sword in a stone.
wrest its hilt
to no avail, the blade
remains buried deep.

depression
is a melting glacier.
worn thin by
global warming,
wilting in enervation.

depression
is you and me.
living in the same town
now, but somehow
distant as dimensions.

I do not know what become of
Frank’s biological right leg,

whether it was severed
and incinerated or he

was born with only one
and crutch bound until

fitted with his first
artificial leg.

I  do understand the look on
on his face after he unlocks

the prosthetic from his
femur and massages

the foot pain on
his stump.