I want all my idols to be false
All my effects the placebo kind
All my monuments temporary
My loves the fleeting type
Cause I’ve got bones of gold
And I bend easy
Impermanently made
Permanently desiring
Permanence fearing
So make all my monuments temporary
All my loves the fleeting type

Why does it take long to write a poem?
are months consumed into few fleeting feelings?
a poem is severed.
Of feelings that need to be let go of,
a delusion of a listen,
poem doesn’t listen,
what does it do?
An appearance for
no purpose,
but to be outside
is like braving the wind
to tell the wind you have braved it,
is this a poem?
None of us know yet.
Mounting feelings in an abandon,
a poem deceives,
and leaves them for dead,
for forgetfulness is eternal,
and the rest rot in several lifetimes,
but the burden?
Unburden, eventually?
The poem is ******,
Can we let go of it at all?
It persists.
We let them know we were there,
to come face to face with selves of us,
that we have avoided,
does the poem really look out for you?
And asks, pretending you know?
Do we need no end?
We are here to while away time
and tell them
we whiled the time away.

lone sparrow
vines come to
a stop

on a twig
a lone sparrow
at last

I look into the sky
smile
and know I am
ready to die

I have seen
the rain
the sun
when everything
had begun
the end
all of it

I know it is ok
if I cry
when I loose
my life

I touch the ground
the dirt
let the tears
drop down my face
who are the only witnesses
of the beauty
I just felt
when
life
touched
my heart

orchids, three days in the vase,
bent-stemmed and dropped heads hung;
the pollens filter the tabletop with
a coughed out dust across which
noon shade, interrupted by light, grows.
The shrinking water has stained the glass
to darken into a pool of brass and stench.
Above the vase a craze of tiny flies hover
like a troubled thought in a comic strip.

**** the romantic movies
**** the one true love
Nothing lasts, Not even
The memory of you (I hope)

But the truth is, Scars last
Often forever
Alas! I won't die a beautiful man
I'll be an ugly old man with scars!

Everything will fade,
What you hold dear,
What you thought yours,
What generates pride.

Everything will pass,
The reasons for your joy,
The cause of your sorrow,
The illusion of self.

A brief interlude of existence,
A drop in infinity,
A fleeting moment of meaning,
A defiant blip in nothingness.

Enjoy the ride,
Cherish the now,
Shed your fears,
Do not laments pour.

Everything will subside,
Then spring forth anew.
Everything will end,
Then start in new guise.