Moving less toward the past
than to the future.
God save my ghost.

Drilling lanes into my flesh
by turning the screws.
Tighten my plates.

Before I know it
come undone again,
eager for the dawn's
heavy noose.

Bowing as a point
to the morningstar,
witness, sufferer,
bane and boon.

Let me ask--
what is worthy of being untitled?

What is the poem or story with so much meaning that it cannot be labeled?

Is my work worthy of being without a title?

Is this poem that meaningful?

Will a title spoil the emotion?

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When we see something untitled, there always seems to be a reoccurring sense of intrigue surrounding it.

I wonder if you'll be intrigued when you read this.

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If I filled this page up with hyphens and forward slashes, would it still be intriguing?

You could say yes, since there could be a secret meaning or code within the longer and shorter lines.

But what if I told you there was no meaning to any of this?

What if everything you're reading in this poem is nonsense?

Would there be any way to know?

You might argue that you could ask me.

But what if there is no answer?

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------

Now I wonder why you're still interpreting these words.

I hold nothing against you...

I just don't see the point.

They told me
Time heals everything
But they never answered my question
How long time does it take?

Because this feels like forever
and that is a long time
When you've got nowhere to go

Also,
I think,
If I ever saw the light again
I will become blind

So what is the point?

I tried to write
So I picked up a pencil
But put nothing down
For it was missing a point

I think
maybe the point
isn't to be found,
but to be made

I wonder if you see me as fragile or strong. I wonder if you think that I’ll break your arms. are you careful with my heart , are you afraid that I will fall apart?

Or I wonder if you know that I am strong, despite the fact that I have been wronged? Do you know that I have strength  despite the fact we both know I can break.

I wonder what you know.

I can fly
I'm just afraid to jump

I retain, fixed
unworldly
cashed-in
a point
until corroded by metological formula
and practical social delinquency

Weather me down
til I am camera
projector
and pinhole

Pure and abyss-less
lights vehicle
apperatus
                         - forget me not