Untitled because it is not about any one thing. It is of the stuff written about, untamed, undiscovered… un yet. That which is just beyond. Before the hand reaches it, before the eye sees, before the mind pours it into the shape that is comprehensible. It is pure. It is debauched. It is half and complete. It is the blind mice playing a symphony with small instruments in Schrödinger's black box where he suspects a cat to be. It is the mother of “Ah Ha” and the father of “Eureka” that is this tear.

Be neither this nor that
He nor she thin or fat
Be and being not
From any given lot

That grail of poetry
That makes it be
This lightless paint
What tis and taint

Who may choose may
Find who chooses say
It choose me instead
I am and was dead

Be rabbit or sacred star
Do I follow and how far
If I am weary I resume
My fleshy wick consumed

So big… yet so small
So… yet… so it is all
Great be in my being again
Now at least I have been

I chase my mind
where the sun won’t shine  
And i hear you in places
I cannot find

My soul it rings
For your touch it sings  
And i hear it  
In all the silent things   

That empty rush
that passes through
For it always leads me  
Back to you

It was you,
It was me,
It was the silence
Underneath the stars
That understood
My heartbeat
And it's racing.
You told me nothing.
I believed everything.
In that moment,
I found life.
In that moment,
I found you.

All the best words have been written

Loved lived lost and forgotten in time

Only to be found by broken hearts

It's a place where
Broken hearts & taken women go
To heal & feel. It's a town
where people are awake in the nights

Roaming the lonely streets
At an odd hour to meet people
Who roam on those streets
Desperately looking for love & lost youth

let me rest my head upon your shoulder while you run your fingers through my hair.
then whisper to me how i can get through this.
tell me i can fight it one more time.
tell me.
for i fear this time i won’t win.