trust in the shape of a key,
good god how corny is that?

satisfactorily nonsensical, a Pharisee phrase,
so offal illogical,
it borders on the poetically reprehensible

who has time to state this stuff,
pretend it is worthy of something respectful,
work it into a Nobel Prize awarded script,
nominated for "really bad ****?"

an ordinary hardware key, brass gleamy,
and the squealing grinding noise
heard while a blank progenitor is reimagined,
so so annoyingly ludicrous in this century
of plastic replicators but the noise,
comfortably familiar as a sound of
things being made

run thumb test over the cuts,
as if your thumb should know
what order the points and bevels,
the toothy gap spaces should be,
the correct disorderly order of the teeth

there are very few locks on a farm;
indeed the front door key
has not
been seen
in many a year

what's that you ask?
ok ok - I get it - in harvest time
it is early to bed and earlier to rise,
conclude this mystery key,
red winter wheat needs laying down,
stop your word seeds germinating

there may be few locks on a farm,
everything rusts so quickly anyway,

but stop to comprehend just how many locks
the human body employs  -
at least 613,
maybe many more,
and only one master
for them all

a shiny gleamy thing,
strangely,
its cuts and grooves seem to
spell a word
trust

go figure

1:05am in the city

I wish that  

i
       would
                         stop
                                
                                   s i n k i n g


down to your
empty promises.

What is the bridge between the worlds
Of matter and the mind?
That bridge is made with spoken words
Which contour and define

So if the wealth which I create
Depends on what I say
I will choose to enunciate
The strongest words today

With words I form and crystallize
And shape my world anew
With words I freshly realize
The work which I must do

Words are the bridge between the worlds
Of matter, thought, and will
I'm eager now to learn which words
Will all my dreams fulfill…!

The man who never was
Among a myriad of people
A shadow cast over water
Continually changing shape
Seen yet absent in presence
Opaque ... Yet a void
The man who never was
Translucent illusion
I could swear I heard him speak
Or was it simply the return of an echo from long ago
Again he didn't stand on the pier last night
Where he had never stood before
Therefore I ceased from looking for him
In places I knew he never was
The man who never was

everyday i stare
into the screen

hoping words
spill out from
my head

it seems to all
stay within
I don't know
the reason why.

my fingertips feel
numb from pressing
on the same k-e-y-s

everyday i stare
into the screen

my
words

                  l                     g                 to make sense.
  i         l          i      n
      p
s