During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean ******'s annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.

Take a walk alone,
On these desert rocks,
Let yourself be stranded,
From everything you’re not,
For where there’s one,
There can be two,
So let me be empty,
Like the desert I walk through,

Give up all you know,
Of who you think you are,
Release these captured echoes,
At the edges of your heart,
And don’t feel bad for those,
Who’ve yet to have a drink,
Better to be empty,
When the watchful sky will wink.

the cascade of clear blue falls even in the midst of the furvous night
the call of a bird echoes cross canyons composed of ages of old
the glint off amber cliffs calls to the reflection of ancience
floors of sandstone riddled with stagnant ghosts of footprints
these paths were once walked by those larger than life

we search for purpose radiometrically
estimating the desperation in the dating
allowing our hearts to sink to an endless expanse of unexplored sediment
grasping onto the aching for the pleasure beneath the pain
self decay feels natural at the bottom of the ocean

peace comes naturally while disappearing into pieces
it will find me upon the return of the rogue daughter to the expanse in which she belongs
may my atomic descendents one day hold the fossils of my being between their fingers
let the earth shake under the feet of whom possesses my bones
and let them keep digging, let them excavate all of us whole

We’re history the moment we enter this world.
Like it or not. No one cares.

Mystery? We are gone, before long.
Blink of an eye. Fixed stares.

Multitudes single.
Singular masses.
We mingle.

Filling each others’ glasses.
Only to break the glass.
And cut ourselves. Bleeding.
History repeating.

Casting sideways glances.
Treading ever so lightly.
Corblimey!

We never leave in earnest.
Not even with the circus.
A letter to the non-discerning.
Hard to find purpose.

Dripping drops of time.
Windows onto the sublime.

No one to blame.
It’s but a silly game.

Tender, tiny dollar bill-
you give my time such worth.
Give my life to buy a thrill
And a box put under earth.

My gravestone sits over there;
paid a pretty penny.
Manages to look so fair
Surrounded by so many.

The car I drive is so nice
For my ride to the yard
Do not ask of me the price
Lest your dignity be marred.

My golden watch is better;
Reminds of time well spent.
Paid off the hassling debtor.
Lived at work to pay the rent.

There is a moment where in your life
you realize all of this-
all the possessions and "things"
have no real meaning

And that our existence is fluid
and that bodies are just shells-
and that pride and wealth
don't matter either

It is at this moment
we are left uncertain
of why we work hard
what are we working towards?

I think many of us
are still searching for happiness
among worldly acquisitions
rather than finding it inside ourselves

Looking for a key to meaning
but what if there is no such key
and what if there is no such meaning?