It’s where I want to be,
That place I cannot reach.
And if I dare to look ahead,
it will taunt me, Warn me.
Go back a step instead!

“I’ll never get there!”
My vision starts to blur.
Reaching out with fuzzy hands,
To hold something steadier than my nerve.

But dense is the air and the fear, that wears me like a cloak.
They picked me up like this, they saw that I had broke.
How to step forward, when these shoulders are my home?
Looking back is easier, if you kid yourself you’ve grown.

often i am plagued with sudden perspective shifts into realisations of my poor behaviour
in this change I drearily daydream of a sudden departure from all those who surround me
off on a personal journey of self betterment
a transformation into a far more admirable human
far and away from the impulsivity and naïvete of my current existence
for i have always felt subtle change shocks none.

how precisely this metamorphosis occurs I haven't yet learnt
yet the final goalpost is clear
I return to collective awe from my friends
the weight of my poor eating habits gone
the doubt that choked me replaced with confidence and self assurance
and a burning heart ready to set the world on fire with its unapologetic love.

but as I rub my eyes and awaken from this vision
comes the bleak fact of where I am.
the starting point I always have knelt at, ready to bolt out of the gates
sans the knowledge of how to arrive at the end
perhaps this time I'll shed my gung-** nature first
and i will choose to carefully walk to my destination.

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 no longer know
What progress feels like
Every time I feel like
I have made
A major improvement
I lose my footing
And fall right back down
From where I started