Don’t stop moving
Just don’t stop spinning
The walls as they fly past you blur out of time
And you don’t care
You don’t care anymore

It’s your face in the window
On the bricks and the pavement
The lines that tie us to our destination
All but scream out your name

The change falls in the toll box
The driver and his crooked teeth
But you don’t care,
You don’t care anymore

Lights flash
People waiting for the life they leave behind
But you are just a blur behind the glass
And I can’t let you go
I can’t take you out
I can’t leave you behind

So don’t stop moving
Don’t stop lying to yourself
Someday I’ll be there
Just a smear on the glass
A dent in the plastic seat
Graffiti on the back of a torn bench
A caricature of what once was
Trying to tell you where I stood

And you don’t care anymore
You can’t feel me
When I’m standing right above you
Next to you
Where you are
No, I was there
Looking out on you
And you just keep melting in the heat
Of what I’ve left behind

One day you’ll be tied to the lines
of my destination
But you won’t hear me
Screaming your name
Because I’m not there anymore.

my heart is aching for something i cannot name
burning like a moth to a flame
wordless
soundless
emptiness
bells ring
horns honk
and still i sit on this rock
wondering what it is about this hour that seems to leave me this way
and about what it will take to stay on the rails this time around
--how deeply must i adjust to the darkness before i can see in the light?
is there some sort of switch i must find?
within or without?
in this world of distorted mirrors and shadow games,
how am i ever to …
listen to what my eyes can't see
feel what my body won't register
and know what my mind refuses to touch?
am i really here at all or is even this self i portray an illusion
wandering through this maze of riddles and rhymes until my feet give way and my heart
my heart
my
heart
*succumbs.

There are no shapes that can be formed by my lips  
No position that I can place my tongue in  
And nothing I can make my throat do  
To express what begs to be heard.  
There are no brushstrokes,  
No lines and no dots that can convey  
What is brimming inside me.  
Even the loudest sound  
Echoing off the bouncing of a string  
Or from air colliding through a brass chamber  
Would fail to touch what I wish to utter.  
No vibration  
No frequency  
No wavelength nor amplitude  
Could even come close to the  
silence that emits from the apertures of my face,  
a silence so total  
and a heart so raw  
Even the strongest attraction  
At the most microscopic level  
Would crumble before  
  
*this.

You've got me thinking of the word "COMPASS",
and of all the ways it registers.
Like the first time I
used it as a device (because you know what Goethe
said about all things transitory)—
—It was the dawning of a new centripetal
system within me, and
I can still feel the relief as it surged
over my skin staring up at my 'mental mechanic' in
awe and gratitude and wonder at
how any of this was possible.
"You mean, my body will instantly reflect the intuitive
awareness of what will and will not
nourish me?"
(...they are mere metaphor.)