Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong

It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise

I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man

See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend

With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come

Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?

Often I find the days never-changing,
Doomed to repeat themselves.

I, Inescapable,
Like a moth to the dim blue glow of fluorescence.

To escape is one thing,
But, to watch friend and foe revel in their ignorance is another.


Like a feline sees the world through a sheet of glass,
I may be doomed to the same.

Every metaphor is a bridge
Connecting what's real to what's true
And only in crossing does one see
Both sides dyed the same hue

¡uʍop ǝpᴉsdn s,ʇᴉ ʍoN
punoɹƃ ǝɥʇ ssoɹɔɐ pǝlloɹ ʇᴉ ʇɐɥ┴
punoɹ os s,nʞᴉɐɥ ʎW


      nʞᴉɐɥ    
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
nʞᴉɐɥ   nʞᴉɐɥ
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
      nʞᴉɐɥ .....................

The shortest haiku
Is quite similar in length
To the longest one.

Do I have to write a poem today?
And attempt forced creativity?
Or is it just another way,
To achieve some authenticity?
Art is art is art is art.
And yet,
People judge based on their own perceptions.
Expression is still truth, don’t forget,
And critiques help us make corrections.

Meta means above
Meta means transcend
Meta means “next level up”
With meta you’ll ascend

So when it comes to daily acts
Choose those with “meta” powers
Build a business
Write a book
Plan for years - not hours

For meta-choices carry-on
Far past the “choosing” day
Earn a black belt
Frame a house
Vision - paves the way

Meta-Decisions - Meta-Thoughts
Will build both wealth and peace
Release yourself
From “pushing”
Meta - “pulls” increase

Soft bedding shielding my body
From the axis of frigid air that thrives
Off the edge of everyone's bed.
But as always my mind is
Wrapped up in something else.

The cord attaching me to
The sail of blood and bone
Tugs deep at my ankles and legs
And moves me off, and out
Into the waking world.

And when did the world wake up,
Breathe heavy and rub yesterday's dirt
Off its dry and heavy eyes?
Lifting itself from a cold pillow
To pirouette the day away 'round the sun.

I question it only because
It feels, most days, like the planet
Is sleepwalking.
Shuffling and spewing nonsense,
Just like me.

At least I got to write this down
Before I go back to bed.

Sometimes she smiles first, asks easy questions
and acts like your responses aren’t ridiculous.
She tilts her **** in your direction, exposes **** rhymes, assonance, and alliteration,
and whispers something
about being free
tomorrow. Alone. Bored. She,
like you, could use
some warmth,
some jokes,
a good

****
Other times, you’re drunk
as ****, and so alone
you need to take your mind off bridges, pills, plastic
bags— the face in the mirror
getting deeper creases than you thought possible. So
you find someone
who looks bored and alone
and say something
awkward, stupid,
not funny—
she doesn’t even look at you.