By I passed you
like a tornado
on a quiet day
sweeping you
into the jumble
of my world.
I watched
as you floated
– unaware –
in a void
of confusion.

the life
on which we thrive
is so small
amongst the larger
landscape
of a picture
that tells a thousand words

the life
we so treasure
becomes a whisper
of nothing more
than a dream
in the lives
of those
who are dying

the life
we are
the life
we can’t see
is contained
in an egg shell
and it’s mother
is the womb
of all mothers
from the wife
in which we live
called life

Each branch
of my life-giving tree
provides a path
my heart can follow,
where its direction
and connecting purpose
lead outward
– always –
to infinite beauty;
to a scope beyond that
which its blind roots
and captured leaves
can only dream exists

Your sweet promise
coats me like a varnish,
wrapping my sticky desires
in an airless
human
skin-tight
vault.

Fatally sealed,
this timeless wait in madness,
this paused intent
of craftsmanship

one unstepped
frozen
foot ahead

contains me like a parasite,
and I, far from drowning,
hibernate within;
mirages of possibility,
seeming eons of time

– bereft of touch –

pass me by, imprisoned.

But wide awake alone,
insane,
inside this vacuumed husk,
I quench my heart

– reflection –

while my hunger,
still un-fed,
provides the popcorn
and the trailers
to the feature film
that scratches at my
fading,
timeless,
statuesque,
and stunted soul.

I wait (believing)

baited and entombed,

for the next civilisation
to unbury me

and recreate a reason
for my being here
that parallels an excuse
for their own.

We
rush recklessly forward
in awkward sentient colonies
blinded
by self preservation
and fragility
consumed
by regret
and indecision and
burdened by lust
(shadowy voyeurs that we are)
and
in unreasonable haste
by misunderstanding.

We
awake sleeping
powered
– faultlessly –
by emotion
and media:
desperate
to get ahead of change
before change changes.

We push
almost
silently alone
– forgivably selfish –
and factory bred to be unaware
of what to ignore
drowning ourselves in excuses
and reasons to find them
and
searching for peace
and harboring nothing
– absolutely nothing –
of the sort.
We survive
possessed by impression
and ruined by greed.

We launch
propelled on
and upward
finding any description that fits
to fit
calling it ‘destiny’
(the time we have left)
oblivious
that time exists
nowhere
but in the moments
that we hurry
now
(society, that is)
in droves
to pass on by.

Come lay with me
so that I
with any luck at all
pass into the night
– yours, being the last face
I shall ever desire to see.

Time: a purpose
built for frolic and fancy;
an infinite seduction
so exquisite
that it’s yet to be considered to exist;
a burden so nameless
that life abandons it
almost upon inception.

Standing here
I stood my ground
floating
closer
than the distance

Further
than ‘ahead’ I saw
me
fighting for resistance

Fast
unmoving
– not alone –
with only me
I stayed

Fumbling
– screaming loud –
to hear it:

. . . silence . . .

yet I disobeyed

Cocooned in air and
muffled
by these fitful gulps
I dared not breathe I
marked out time
in vacant space
I owned – yet
not yet: not for me

Thinking hard
I cleared my mind
– illusioned, lost –
yet
memories traced

Would I
(should not) leave
I’d try

The where?
Just ‘some’
to
ANY place

Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens

(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)

why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire

(like the wireless wires will break)

and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.

What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?

Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection

(invisible firewalls at our protection)

our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.

Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.