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Aaron Mullin Jul 15
as the foghorn blows for the third time
i ask the question once again …
where lies the hands of power
and bringing consciousness back into my material being
i find two hands that look very much
like my own

nomind, i don’t mind

i thought i was a thinker
but Rodin proved me wrong
he bronzed the thinker

after pondering on that
while observing the foot traffic
at the gallery for a long moment …

i wondered:
as an observer of the observers
am i hunter or prey?
Written September 2023
Toby Sebastian Sep 2015
I have no idea why I say the things I do.
Sometimes I just trust my voice to sing.
Spenser Bennett Feb 2016
There's an impossibility standing adjacent to the nearest star bound body
It waves and beckons with a sincere familiarity so unnaturally
I am the end of the undulating tunneled vision
I am become a silhouette of a dead city caught in the decaying story bones fiction

We are all emptiness and our emptiness is how we define ourselves.
But our emptiness will become a river into which we will find the world to be held.
The universe exists in the eyes of those who live without the sight to see
Those breathing, freezing stars that burn into the heart buried deep.

Constructs of will and portions of strength cut out the guilt of my youth
All roads lead to the sky but I will not seek to understand you
Futures are made in blinks and beats
Are they aware of the way we lay with our tangled feet under these threadbare sheets?

Follow the light of my darkness
A single shot of whiskey and a conversation whisks away my heart's hardness
All cool and breezy across the great green oceans
I'll meet you halfway between loss and a facsimile of dreamed emotions

— The End —