I can't escape my fantasies
Not sure I want to
I exist in many places
I exist all over

What is reality
In a world that functions off the arbitrary?
Am I my day job?
Am I pumping gas at the same station
on the corner near my house
twice a week?
Is my life one extended motion
of muscle memory?
Or am I purely spirit
Soaking up the sun on Mykonos
Kicking up dust in the Paris catacombs
Staring up at the basilica
of the Hagia Sophia?

Maybe I can't escape my fantasies
Because they are real

Bare trees under the sun
Clean snow on freshly bloomed flowers
Rain on a cloudless day
Dark skies at the gates of heaven

Forgotten
Like the flowers in the waterless vase
In that room of the house you never use.
Beautiful, but screaming
Through glass panes
That the sunlight cannot seem to breach
As you sit in the den,
Surrounded by smoke,
Asleep with your eyes open.

At night when I lie to sleep,
I like to think about love.
I drift to a place
Where love is all there is
And someone meets me halfway
To fulfill my fantasies
And warm the edges fuzzy.
That person is me.

Stare in the mirror, and what looks back
Death
He is more than more than human
and he is less.
He will not be mocked
He will not be cheated
He will not be made inferior
because he cannot be made inferior.

Look out the window, and what goes by
Life
She is seemingly weightless
yet all too flooding.
She will not be understood
She will not be guessed
She will not be made a thing
because she cannot be made a thing.

Clouds swirl around in circles
Birds sing on half snapped branches
Bones lie within the dirt
Upon which white flowers will grow.

lost in thought
for i have fought across
endless seas
countless dimensions
on a ship distraught
'till i abandoned the fraught
and on the shore of self washed up
or so i thought

endlessly torn between wanting to live forever
and wanting to cease

i know nothing of moderation.
i don’t moderate.
i postulate
and i hesitate

always reaching all the way west
until it is the east

and the world keeps on spinning