I’m walking down the street alone.
My glance is listless into vacancy.
My heart is now a granite stone.
Nothing can hurt it more. It’s blessy.

I’m walking freely and no-fault.
I am alone and I’m forgiven.
For blind and reckless love for good,
For life devoid of mind and meaning.

I’m moving forward and don’t care
That nothing is in front and rear.
Only a silent emptiness is inside
No whisper and no groan… All died…

I’m walking quetly and slow.
I have no faith, no hope, no love.
My love is tired, weakened whole.
It moved away from here. No half.

All things arise from emptiness,
Where does emptiness arise from?

Thus spoke an Ancient Buddha.
I do not understand it, much.

Simply the wheels turning outside -
The pigeons coo, and below the grasses sparkle.

The day turns,
The night as well-

Some something something that
Is not this nothing something.

Why indeed must there be anything,
When just as easy as it for to be nothing-

But philosophising
Is quite unnecessary -

I spent my whole journey
Dancing in front of a mirror:

This one, that is-
All life a reflection of yourself,

All concepts, concepts, concepts-
All the way down - concepts!

Alas- all things do arise from emptiness,
Yet for the life of me-

Pray-
Could I ever understand whereforth emptiness arises from?

Call it women’s intuition—
but she knows the power of silence,
how to bend you to her will,
whether she’s calm or not.
Eventually, you’ll crack,
if given enough time.
Trying to figure out what’s wrong,
following her from room to room,
asking question after question—
whether you’re crazy now
or crazy later,
it’s soon to happen.
Oddly enough,
the various cigarette and liquor companies
profit from her silence—
the way, even at your best,
it still finds a way to get your attention.
Even if you manage to block her out,
bringing it up at another time is just an argument.
It’s best to take a minute and get yourself together.
no matter what you do.
You can’t trust the way she stares,
you can’t trust the way she laughs.
It’s all a trap.
You won’t realize it until it’s too late.
Through her messiness,
through her beauty,
through her chaos,
She just wants to see how you’ll react,
if you’ll reach for her,
even when she’s right in front of you

i cried a river;
it wasn’t enough -
to whet my wits,
and call your bluff.

i tried a thing,
or two, in vain;
i could not escape
the house of pain.

i lied to you -
didn’t occur to me,
‘t’d be so hard
to agree to disagree.

i hide away
my bother; i coy -
hush the man, and
play the boy.

i ride along -
for i’ve lost my way;
bide my tongue…
do as you say.

i denied myself
the right to speak:
i waived my voice
to the cackle of
the creek.

Clock hands go lazily – tick-tock.
Why should they rush? It’s almost midnight.
The Night doesn’t need their help at all.
She comes into its own rights.

She’s powerful over all that’s here.
And under its cover of darkness and gloom
We are all here, all to the last man.
We’re all locked up now in full.

We’re like prisoners of this Night,
Calm, submissive and tamed.
And clock hands go straight and true,
They’re unfailing attached.

I’m a stranger in the Night.
Ask her let me come in.
Maybe she'll let me stay the night
And I’ll find the peace and meaning.