An ocean of suffering burst upon me,
and I set out on the deserted street.
Walked without in mind a destination,
Walked towards this life's conclusion.

Rain was falling, the atmosphere had cheer,
but my grief-struck heart had no care.
Getting wet in the biting cold,
directionless I kept on my painful stroll.

Clouds were showering the earth,
but the real storm brimmed inside my heart
Getting wet in this grief-filled rain,
directionless I kept on my walk of pain.

It was winter outside,
but the real chill was in inner emptiness,
Shivering in that void so cold,
directionless I kept on my painful stroll.

...And when it all goes silent, and I am left with only me.

My racing thoughts, the emptiness, the pain throughout my body.

Chaotic darkness in my mind

Directionless

Feeling disconnected

I need to find the route home back to me.

I don't want to
Get lost
In you
But I fear
I have travelled
Much too
Far.
I never planned on
Staying up
Till four am
Wondering
About the thought
Of us.

I am not a traditionalist;
I believe newness makes more sense.
So I make it up as I go along,
and my footfalls make a sort of song
rending silence till sunlight appears
And dew spreads like the sweet earth's tears.
Some stories are written, some left untold;
I'll write my own, before I get old.
There comes a fork in the road; decide-
I take whichever one feels right inside.
When you have no destination, any path is fine.
Some think that's a negative; I think it's sublime.
We put too many expectations, constraints on ourselves.
It's not good to worry; it's bad for your health.
Sometimes I wonder if human life is so short
because we spend it anxious about the hours we hoard.
That which you hold closest will slip through your grasp,
and our lives are so fragile, brittle as glass.
It's better to wander this world without direction;
let things come to you-and stop chasing perfection.

i found myself walking towards you blindly
there was no end, there was no start
just you and my stupid heart.

Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate.
I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me.
I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.
And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing.
And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything.
If only I could think! If only I could feel!

Brutal, unforgiving
Organic
Like sand in your teeth

Undeniable as truth in its purest form

As beautiful as color

Planes are departing
Landing
Crashing

Frogs are leaping
Dogs are guarding
Cells are dividing

The woman with her Judas smile
Poison forked tongue flicking
Darkens my doorstep no more!

Freeways hum
Refrigerators buzz
Oil goes unchecked

I turn off the tv set
Ignore the rioting in the streets
Look away as the one percent
Ruins America

The silence of the phone
Is deafening
Tomorrow is uncertain
As I contemplate my obsessions
And A.D.D
I wonder how patient
Can God be

Gun metal gray,
this pigeon grasps
at current strung black
across a brick-
bounded back alley

edgy eyes on
uneven piles—
disposable
artifacts of people
caught in-between—

it trills its plea,
a directionless
directive to throw
away smaller,
more edible, trash

Once a bridge was nothing more than an abstract tool for reasoning. But one day, this very abstract tool for reasoning became the literal direct opposing opposite to this very operation.
(The operation that was meant to be disposed of from the very get-go!)
But something stopped that from becoming a seamless reality...
After all, seamless is nothing more than predictable tension in the right places that don't normally fit into the very crowd of normalities itself.
But the universe is connected by such truths that don't normally (either), point its own self in the right direction full of directionless odds that don't poke and **** your very potential progression forward...if it wasn't truly for the very bridge that again, (as an abstract took for reasoning), points these very directionless odds into a newer meaning than ever before. Hence, an abstract tool (obviously) when dealing with such tension involving the universal boundaries and conditions and features and traits and meanings and properties that surround itself among many other things in its general surroundings that bear itself too much for an actual correct dose of conquest to deal with all at one single time.
Basically, because if that was the actual case (all at one single time...) Then it'd be a non-localized protocol that would pave the way for ALL such manufacturing projects in one single action!
(And non-localized making such advances in the very field of study, for the very meaning that happens all at once, not within the same boundaries from one another, length and size wise.)
Seeing as how big the universe really is, with still too this very date is filled with such EXTREME (unknown sizes and expectations of it, regardless of its own such limits regulated by the very anticipated push for discovery itself). There wouldn't even be a certain timeframe for things to have its own say (in for how ever long they want to take). Instead, you have something happening all at one time, where everything is truly about one thing, and one thing, ONLY...
Nothing is about progression (or even the very process of actually getting it done) when it's all about the bridge that reasons out the very different areas and points of many likelihoods that don't limit its own variety to its own protocols...when their own hunger is trying to go about achieving one's own aim, or goal of precipitation...
When it's entirely longer than the standing idea...that nothing is without flawless results, if and ONLY if...you make it or break its very abstract tool for reasoning itself!
If and only if you do, then you’re looking at yourself as nothing more than the very truthful meaning for "treason."
Once you commit treason... You’re also breaking the connection with the bridge who's meant to connect everything in one single action for conquest. (And not the misguided mindset for simply achieving a consequence full of such disorder.)
If that were the actual case, then everything isn't as connected as one would previously think.
Especially when your very abstract tool for reasoning is the very reasoning for shame in the face of such irrational thinking.
Hence, when different mixtures of fate and probability confront the very limitations (upon their own such instances full to brim of primal instances and events...)
That's when the bridge that is meant to connect an entire universe together.
Becomes the greatest story ever told about a bridge who also...became the abstract tool for reasoning.

an ample empty Sunday
nothing on the agenda,
the calendars cease their chirping,
it's a kinda free rarely heard

maybe will go see a movie,
walk alongside the East River currents,
rushing somewhere we don't have to be,
maybe we will practice rolling on the floor,
visiting and winding up the grandkids,
then escaping/leaving them with parents,
crazy high and wet & dry

maybe I'll cancel some credit cards,
crack open the briefcase of deferred questions,
have pizza for breakfast,
write half a dozen baker's poems,
finish some more of Dr. Zhivago,
that I started several years ago,
maybe, I'll keep her ******* in our bed,
releasing her when she releases me  
because I released her first

yup,
an empty day ahead
full of the oscillating,
a true east/west directionless
vibrating range of
ample possibilities