Poems half written half read
fill my cupboards and fall off chairs
as an old incompleteness
stacks high around me
on this fine evening.

I have been dabbling in the art
of losing
and regaining my sanity,
exploding into
a thousand broken puzzle pieces as
I walk
into the night,
each time with the hope
of something falling back together
into something else.
Something better.
Better than
this.

A loneliness so petrifying
so absolute and whole
encompasses every breath
I have ever taken,
and all my regrets and dreams
have become
calm in its wake.

The universes on their daily commute
pass me by
on the street
and I watch them
longingly
as they fold into themselves,
infinite, unreachable fractals
suffocating me on
the evening train,

changing

changing

folding

changing.

It has been
a strange journey indeed.