Very much Alive
Very much Here
Very much waiting for a Career

my writing is a blunt hammer,
a white void pounding
at the keys,
breaking off little plastic
bits of life.

this room’s full of them now,
the debris of dead thoughts,
ancient relics:
dinosaur guts,
fern dust,
fossilized failures.

the sun’s clawing its way
up again,
after all this time.
what a *******.

can you wait
for morning to sink
its teeth into you?

can we
stand five feet apart
and still meet
each other’s eyes
without flinching?

can I write something
that outlives me?
sure,
that’s the easy part.

but writing something
that lives
without me?
now that’s the trick,
isn’t it?

silk canisters and
ribbons marching like fools,
a casket dressed
in bright roses—
pretty little things
for the spigot,
the *****,
the inevitable hole.

wait another year.
or ten.
or twenty.
hell,
spend your whole life
waiting.

go ahead.
see where that gets you.

it doesn’t come.
it never does.
not like that.
never.

stop waiting
for:
someone,
something,
some sign,
some break,
some moment
to crack open
like an egg.

stop praying for it.
stop hoping.
stop wishing.
stop.

the work,
that’s all there is.

live for it.
breathe for it.
burn for it.
die for it.

if you have to believe
in something,
believe in that.

I don’t know
what that thing is for you,
but you do.
and if you don’t,
then maybe it’s time
to stop,

and ask—
what the hell’s stopping you?

I want to make you mine,  
not just in whispered promises,  
not just in silent prayers,  
but in the life we build, brick by brick,  
hand in hand.  

But my hands empty, searching
grasp only air where security should be.  
Not because I do not try,  
not because I do not dream,  
but because the world demands more  
than love alone.  

I am not afraid of struggle.  
I am not ashamed of waiting.  
But I fear the days slipping,  
the distance stretching,  
the time that asks me, "When?"
when I have no answer yet.  

I do not want to come to you  
with only poetry in my pockets,  
with only love in my voice.  
I want to bring you a future,  
solid as the ground beneath our feet,  
safe as the home I will build for us.  

So I walk forward,  
step by step, fight by fight,  
knowing that one day,  
when I stand before you,  
it won’t just be as a lover
but as the man who kept his promise.

The hours stretch, a silent ache,  
Each minute trembles, each breath I take.  
The phone sits still, no message bright,  
As I wait through another lonely night.

I wonder if you think of me,  
Or if I'm lost, a memory.  
The world moves on, and yet I stay,  
Hoping you’ll reach out today.

I watch the screen, a glimmering glow,  
But it’s empty—no sign, no show.  
What is it that I’m waiting for?  
A voice, a word, or something more?

Maybe I’m just a fleeting thought,  
A dream you’ve left, a love you’ve sought.  
But still, I wait, despite the ache,  
For your call that never wakes.

we wait.
Gnōthi Seautón (Γνωθι Σαυτόν)

know thyself, is a fundamental
"must do"
for any planning
to die right…
#meditation

“Zi zhī”
Word of me, my word… known shown
“Atmanam viddhi”
Katha Upanishad:
“Atmanam rathinam viddhi,
shariram ratham eva tu”
(Know thyself as the charioteer,
and thy body as the chariot)

I recall the day I first saw you, amid the frigid depths of winter, as I sought even a trace of warmth from the sun. My gaze found that warmth in you. When you drew near, you stunned me, clasping my cold hands in yours, imbuing them with warmth. I remember, too, the day I waited in that same chill for one final glimpse of you—only to be left, forsaken, my hands still cold, yearning for the warmth you once brought.

I may not know you yet
    After all, we've never met
       But I know this deep down
      That for me, you wait

Only you, wait
    Death
          
       Thus, I hope
    You too, will know
        that with open arms
Death
   I await you

Your shadow and mine,
far apart in space,
far apart in time

Waiting by the edge of birch
waiting by the edge of the world
waiting for fate to end our search