a hollowed skeleton
stares at the world
himself created and
wonders what went
wrong in his life

I look at this world
I created and think
that my future has
died and that I am
sooner dead if not
for the torture found
in life

I have just felt
the blow
that a god feels
when he is first returned
to mortality

not to say I am,
or ever was,
a god
but I do mean to say
I was powerful,
strong,
impenetrable even,
and I have now been hit
with the force of a hurricane
across the newly soft
and vulnerable
cheeks of my
face

I had risen so far,
in my mind,
but I was worse
than ever
as I’ve found
out

now,
I am sick with it

the return to humanity
the plummet to vulnerability
the paralyses of that first
strike

I am a titan no more
and yet I never was

but this fall back to normality
is like the death of someone
I only realized I hated
after his grave
had been spat on
by so many
of his former
friends

everybody’s always going some place.
traveling, the idea that a vacation can
be enjoyed anywhere else but here is
left only to the crazies and those too
awkward to be going out in the world,
the world is abuzz with a constant
movement that some would call as
beautiful as a million silver fishes
working as one being to make a dance
infinisimly more amazing than anything
we humans could ever produce but to
me I see this only as the quivering of
cockroaches in the moments before your
shoe comes down upon them

just now
I remembered
why I like
writing

times now
are so intrusive

everybody knows
but I’ve got nothing
to hide

there’s no effort
in being myself

but then the poem comes along
the person who really wants to
know what I think

everybody else,
they just want the dirt,
the scandal, the drama,
they don’t want the truth
unless it gives them five
minutes of entertainment
and a charred husk of a
person to mock after their
done

but the poem,
you that wonderful
person,
comes up to me and
says:
“I’m all ears”

so I tell her,
tell her my thoughts,
good and bad,
the truth, the lies,
the questions, the doubts
and she listens
but very seldom
does she answer
in her own voice

no,
she prefers to answer in silence
finding that I will solve my own
crisis more often than not

and that’s why I like her,
she is wise without ever
saying anything, and each
day we talk a little bit seeps
into me with the more words
I bring into the world

go alone
my son
you can only
go alone

the simple future awaits you
the complex past can wait

go alone
my son
you can only
go alone

for in the future a kingdom waits
and in the past is purposeless nostalgia

I believe that I control my happiness. Every day, I see people that go to school, go to work, and they act as if they don’t control what happens to them. When they are sad, it is because the universe is being unfair, and when they’re elated, they accredit it to the alignment of the moon, stars, and planets. I know that they are wrong. I know because I have lost control of myself, and thus, my happiness.
       I am in a state of disrepair. My grades are slipping, my relationships are devolving, and my mind is cloudy with doubt. I am not happy. Nothing I do seems rewarding, and even the distractions I can manage to squeeze in only delay an inevitable tumble back into the depths of the dark pit I call my life.
        How did this happen? How could I let this happen? Here I am. Standing at the bottom of a hole and knowing only one thing:  I dug myself here.
         Maybe it couldn’t be helped? Sometimes I get behind, sometimes I get buried in my work, and sometimes things are bad for no other reason than just plain bad luck. I know these are somewhat true, but in my case, I know exactly what I did to get here. I made inexcusable decisions each day: to play a video game instead of finishing my math homework, to read a play instead of reading my history book, or to laze around instead of getting done what needed to be done. I chose to put-off and half-***, knowing full well that they would only dig me further into the hole. I chose to close myself off and to become snide and moody. I made these choices; I chose to be unhappy.
          I brought this future upon myself. I regret, in advance, the hours that must be spent recovering from my missteps, yet I still go on to make the same mistakes before I’ve fixed those I’ve already created. Hedonism and lack of discipline got me here. I loathe the things I wish I hadn’t done but those opportunities are in the past, forever lost. I seek to change my future. I seek to be happy once again.
          I believe that this essay has come at a bad time in my life. I am low, lower than ever before.  I want to get out of here, and it is my belief that I can, with work and determination, clamber out of this hole and rediscover the light of happiness. I will be stronger for it. By climbing out of the pit on a ladder of hard lessons, I will emerge with the wisdom that can only be learned when one faces oblivion. This I believe: happiness is something I control and there is still a chance for me to seize it. I know this because I have done it before, and I believe that I can do it again.

you see
the problem is
you don’t
really
understand anything you
say

you preach
you lecture
you bash into the heads
of the innocent
and the uninformed
but at the end of the day
you lay at night
wondering
what any of it
means

that’s why you can’t get me

I disagree with you, yes,
but I understand what I
know and what I know I
can prove to be true

at least to me
and that’s all that
matters

but for you
the problem is that
you never thought
this stuff
up

you were told
and you nodded
in agreement
without the slightest
idea of what the hell
was going on

but you nodded,
you memorized,
you recited,
you repeated,
and now you come to my door
so sure that you are
right
that you’ve never even
stopped to wonder
why

nobody knows me like you know me
that’s a lie
nobody can know me like you know me
that’s a lie
nobody can ever be what you are to me
that’s a lie
nobody is out there for me
that’s a lie
nobody can  be you
true but,
that’s a lie

this day has gone so slowly fast

as in
each minute ticks by as if an hour
but at the end of each hour
I can scarcely remember a minute of it

but how was it?
this slow,
yet fast
day?

fantastic?
no,
but it has been happy.

friends,
memories,
entertainment.

I kept busy,
yes,
and that keeps the mind
busy from thinking about
the bad things.

the sad things,
the memories,
the frustrations.

god,
it’s late now,
the day is so slow,
slow enough that they’re
catching up with me.

so I speed up,
speed up in any way I can
till my body is like electricity
trying to dance away the dark
with only the tiny shocks to make
light

one young man’s
attempt to make this world
he is barely a part of
something that he owns
and is responsible for
but just as quickly
as the spray-paint goes on
the men that really own his world
wash it and him away
reminding the young man
that he can do anything he wants
when he doesn’t care
what happens to the world
that isn’t his

I want to close my eyes
and wake up sixty years
in the future

I will be ninty-five,
aging,
decaying,
but I will be
happy

I will be able to look out at
my children,
my wife,
hell, probably even
my dog
and smile with the memories
they’ll given me over the
years

but as I close my eyes,
for the final time,
drifting into the sleep
I should never awake from,
I will emerge from my rest
a fifteen year-old boy
having only a hazy recollection
of the happiness
that awaits me
one day

1

back again!
I declare
high on my horse
ridden through so many
****** battles

I am back,
again!
I yell to the heavens
and to the people that
I scarcely know

I screamed:
I am back!
and I’m here
to rule my land
once again!

but as I looked out upon my land
I wondered at who I was screaming at
and the tumble **** that rolled past me
was the only audience I could find
in this desert place I call my domain

2

the earth is dry
and
the rivers dry
and
the mountains wet
but only with cold
snow

the trees grow already dead
the wildlife only exist in starving vultures

this desert land I call my home
is frozen in time
at the worst point
it has ever faced

but somehow
in this time of frozen time
a letter came to me
with a dagger
in the envelope

it read on the side:
“cut forth
the future”

taking a stab at the air with it
I felt it’s perfection
the balance
the girth
the weight
were all right
and then I struck with a jolt
the wall of the very castle
I had built with my own hands
and the crack grew,

it grew
and grew

up my perfect marble walls,
up the concrete poured oh-so-carefully,
up through the paintings,
up through the art,
up up up
it went
till the ceiling cracked
the walls collapsed
and my house was no more
than rubble

3**

it was as if water were rushing out of an ancient dam

the fields turned green
the rivers flowed blue
and the forests burst
with the plants of a billion
colors

my land had returned to time again,
it’s king having been released
from his prison

but this land,
that is mine,
was reborn a different beast
and I had no knowledge of
how to reclaim it

I was without home
I was without friend
I was without tool
I was only with myself

but I knew that’s all I needed,
so I got up and dusted off myself
and as I walked out of my ruins
for the last time I picked up my will
and began to tame the land once
again

on the other side
are the people who really exist

the cruel ones
the cold ones
the sadists
the *******
the whiners
the liars
the manipulators  

but we live on this side
the side of faces
and that’s all we see

a face,
that can be
whatever a person
wants it to
be

the hero,
the god,
the winner,
the leader,
the helpful one,
the thoughtful one,
the generous,
the forgiving

are all just an illusion of

the ignorant,
the hateful,
and
the weak.

this side of reality,
is a terrible one,
where nothing is real
and yet
it is the only thing
tangible

he lies in the word
a meaning that even
he does not understand

the poet relays what he really means
even if doesn’t want to

he lies with every word
the meaning of his existence
and the secret tortures
he can only scream
louder

goodnight, you beautiful world,
you beautiful corruption
of a once beautiful thing

goodnight, you beautiful thing,
with tears in my eyes
that should only come
from anger, I say good-
night to the world I let
descend into something
I cannot bare to face

they warned us
they would
come

soon,
they said,
reeling from
our stubborn ability
to resist
them

but no one
suspected their return
as they came like ants upon
a bread crumb
or like an ocean
broken through
an aging
dam

I
do not know
what it’s like
to not be
confident

I do not know what failure is
what doubt is
what grief is

the next day
will always be brighter
to me
even when I know
winter is soon
upon us

I
do not know
what it’s like
to not be
confident

I have,
and always will,
believe that I
can do
anything

and for that
I am weak
with my lack
of
limits

they moved like robots that night;
their arms bending against unseen
friction and their eyes open so long
that a fly could come and eat it away
without so much as a blink

these men, who claim compassion,
sit with their tall shoulders casting
dark shadows upon the lesser beings
they judge but they know nothing of
what it’s like to be in the blackness
of their apparition

I see the strong ones who cast them-
selves into these metal men’s prison
and when I see them return they are
always as soulless as the ones who
took theirs’ away

these men, who move without the
inhibitions of the human condition,
are turned to by those without morality
to be the judge of if they are human

a gangly man
wearing thick rimmed glasses
that made his eyes seem
like those of a fish
wearily looking out
upon a world he cannot understand
read from crumpled piece of paper
the name of the next
person that had signed up
to take the stage

“Mr…
Youling?
is there,
a Mr.
Youling,
in the house?”

nobody answered
heads turned
looking to see if they could find him
but nobody knew who he was
and everybody knew he wasn’t
going

“ummm…
ok.”
the gangly man
said
“next up we have
David Proctor.
Please,
welcome him.”

David Proctor
got up
within moments

guitar in hand,
lyrics in head,
he played for us
some song about a girl
or his father or
something like
that

but in the second song
a man walked through the door
looking no different,
acting no different,
than any other
but he moved upon the stage
swift,
calm,
controlled

David Proctor
didn’t know what to do

the man
who had just waltzed in
went up to the microphone
and said

“ladies,
gentlemen,
how’re you
tonight?”

“My name is John,
what’s yours?
or are you afraid
of old Mr. Youling?
even if that’s not
my
name.”

“I said
good evening
ladies and
gentlemen!
good evening
and hello
to
you!”

“My name is John!
My name is John!
My name is John!
when are you going
to tell me
YOUR
name?”

I rose then
I don’t know why
I don’t how
but I did

my name is Caleb
I said

“Good good,
Caleb,
way to
be
bold!
Way to stand
up
in more ways
then
one!”

but I sat down then
remembering what I was
doing,
what was
happening.

John just stood there

“So tonight,
I’m going
to
read a
poem!
A poem,
people,
a poem!
Get excited!
Be amazed!
Don’t be so
pissy!”

“and the name of the poem
is
this”

“hello
hello
hello
the noise
of my voice
goes out
but not in!

hello
you people
old,
new,
and
forgetful
people
I say hello to you
but you never
say hello
back!

this
world is coming
to a stand-
still
because of
people
like
YOU

YOU
people
too afraid to appreciate,
to acknowledge,
to love,
to fear,
to say hello,
to say goodbye
to say that you’ve failed
to say that I’ve failed
failed to entertain
to amuse
to make you laugh
to make you think

but here’s the thing
YOU
I know I haven’t done
any
of
THAT

there YOU
are
sitting silently
glaring at me from behind
your
drinks
but
even as you hate me
you love me
for saying the things
you don’t even realize
you want to scream to the
hills

hello
hello
hello
people
YOU
people
who sit
there thinking about me
even as you try not
to

goodnight
goodnight
goodnight
YOU
I’ll see you
again
forever.”

but as he left
he stuck his head back in
and said,
like a punctuation mark,

“enjoy Mr. Proctor.”

and then I knew
he was gone

gone like an exhaled breath
and from that moment on
we could never breath quite
as easy

fire walls of hatred words
green flames of jealous rage
sorrowfully now I walk alone
this day I hope never comes

the road ahead
is one not often
followed

each step I take is original
each path I make is new

the road ahead
is dark with thunder-
heads

and sitting here
now
I grin with
anticipation

I am rushing towards an explosion
of my character

my mind will burst out my ears
and my words will burst out my
eyes and the person everyone
thought I was will be splattered
against the walls while my real
form stands naked for all to see

this fuse within in me comes
dangerously close to the bomb
hid behind my stoic face

the bodies hold me back
and the fuse burns slowly
faster with each person
that stands in the way

three,
two,
one,
I count,
seeing the fuse
come all the way
to the bomb

but then

nothing

psst.
fizzle.

the day goes on
and I am still a
ticking bomb

rain
from
the
grey
sky
came
today
for
the
first
time
in
many
months

my
room
is
cool
with
the
new
fall
and
my
mind
is
eased
with
the
end
of
another
play

rain
from
the
grey
sky
came
today
and
cooled
the
world
and
all
of
sudden
I
seek
to
burn
with
activity
once
again

morning,
don’t come too
soon

it’s 3 am
and it’s Sunday
when I wake
up

I don’t have church,
I don’t have school.

don’t got theatre,
or work,
or socialization
either.

it’s my day off.

when I’m irresponsible
in a responsible way

but morning,
take your time getting to
me

I need some rest
after the week I’ve
had

and for all those days
I wake up earlier for
you;
you can surely
give me one Sunday
to get some much needed
sleep

Oh,
****
you.

I don't give a ****
about what's wrong
or
what's right

what you think about me,
or my acts,
or my
kind.

oh,
*******.

with your giggling
and
your condescension

I really don't give a ****
but that's a lie,
because
I wrote this poem
didn't I?

quiet,
now.
the world
is
breathing.

let her have
her
air,
you've had
plenty for one
life.

quiet,
now.
let's listen
to nature's
breath
and
notice
how she
does not
wheeze.

each word now
comes harder
than
the
last

this poem
is an admission
of my
strife

voices fill
the air
around me
and yet,
my voice
can barely
whimper

I was asked today

"you're a senior,
right?"

no,
no,
no

I said
chuckling

"Wait,
really?"

yes,
yes,
yes

really.

I repeated,
glowing.


"well I'd never had
guessed,
the way you took
charge
and all
that."

I was silent

thanks

I said

"your welcome"

he said

and I stood there
in the afternoon
sun thinking about
the things I can do

after every battle,
war,
argument,
or
day

after every fire
from the
furnace
(our soul)

there is a quiet time
when the sky turns grey
and the tiny flecks
of ashes
float towards the
earth

you watch the ashes
floating down
like angles from heaven

and they say nothing
but
everything
and
your eyes
close
silently
in
peace

never a fantasy
but always an illusion

the immigrants from
foreign lands cannot
accept the fallacy

but

I, not born but raised
on the lands they
now strive for,
feel little specialness for
this o' so special
place

the sun’s a-shining
I’m happy as can be

the sun’s a-shining
as the blue sky turns black

the sun’s a-shining
when I forget the day

the sun’s a-shining,
it’s all I have left

are you hungry?

no,
I lie

I sit alone on the floor of my bedroom
shame running through my veins

I am forced to punish myself
and I will do it
to the full extent of my power

no more diet coke
they said
and I made it four days
before I was sneaking them
at restaurants
two weeks
before I had them at school
just days after
before I stole them by the armful
from the limited supply
holed up in my parent’s
room

this is a confession
a begging for forgiveness

I shall lay the whippings upon my own back
and
I shall be the one who recommended the whippings

are you hungry?
they ask
and I stare
blinking silently
lacking the ability to answer

no
I might say
if I was more of a
coward


but for now I am a criminal awaiting trail
and not a single soul doubts I am my
best judge

why her?
why again?
why am I doing this?

is this desperation or
truth?

this burgeoning love
that enters my house
in a suave suit but I
see him as an assassin
teeth replaced with
knives, finger taught
on some weapon

does this man enter
my house in honesty,
bringing with him a
word of truth?

does this man enter
my house in deceit
bringing with him a
means to tear down
all I’ve built up since
the last time I expelled
him from this place

we laugh about pancakes,
calling them devil cakes
after the fact that they are
hard as hell to make

but I gaze beyond her face
looking into the eyes of the
man standing behind her,
and wondering what he’s
doing back again

happy smiles on matching faces,
holding hands under an ancient
oak, watching the sun set in each
others arms, each day seems long
but not long enough

ageless words like their ageless
meanings bring to light what
good there is in all this bleak
mess

what I know without ever
experiencing
like reading a book about
a place you’ll never
go

sadness invades me now
the warm images fading
from my mind as the cold
norm returns in a raging
blizzard

the poem, as my heart,
sits worn in my hands
and without any idea
where to go I take a
step, dropping it to the
ground I’d already passed

I tried to a make-up
something for a
poem

a love I never had,
a moment I never
experience, a time
that never existed

over and over
I try to do it
but I know it’s
all deceit

why can’t I say it?
my head is squarely
on head but my hands
seem to belong to any
other person

I have been challenged

write one line

and there,
I did it

but we both know that’s not enough

the sun is begging me
the grass is begging me
the bugs, and the fan,
and my diet coke next to
me is begging me too

write!
they say

pah,
that’s easy for you to say

but then I look down into their eyes
and then back down at my screen

I am still writing
but for the time
I refuse to accept my
work

there you are,
the greater part of
every population,
the few and far
between that are
secretly exactly
like every other
person next to
them on the bus
or train or office

there you are,
you pretentious masses
of quivering cowards

there you are,
hiding in the corner
acting like someone
else put you there

there you are.

I have no sympathy
because I cannot be
sympathetic

the world is your oyster
and I know that and for
that reason I sit here and
plot until it is time to
strike

but there you are

crying over bruises
and paper cuts like
you’ve been stabbed
in the back when
every one of your
wounds came from
your own dagger

there you are
and here I am

and that is how it
is, no more and
no less

long lost or
long forgotten
we all feel as if left
by those who we
thought really
cared

come and go
is the natural
way of the uni-
verse but we’re
caught on the
barrier between
natural and
unnatural and
we hate it  here

more complex than animals
yet still animals

we feel all the ancient urges
welling up inside us as our
minds scream NO NO NO
at the things we want but
refuse to do

***
***
***

food
food
food

**** or be killed
**** or be killed
**** or be killed

in your mind
in your head
in your heart

it’s always been there
but we treat it like an
invading army

we are all animals
in a world filled
with all sorts of
other life

are we better?
worse?
the same?
different?

think
think
think

it’s all we’ve got
and it tortures us
so much

are we all alone?
each of us an island
destined to drift for
a time before sinking
into the abyss?

friends
family
and
lovers
are
all illusions
cooked up by
evolution to
keep us from
killing ourselves
at the thought
of what our
life really is

we are all alone
but the way we
survive is to stick
together even if
it goes against
everything the
universe tells us

and we are caught
between the natural
and the unnatural as
our ship rocks against
the whim of the uni-
verse and our species
continues to evolve

down looks the eye
spiked through with
a blade of black steal
and on wings of clouds
it shall ascend into a
better place that cannot
exist for you

look out the window
the world speeds by

kayakers in a river
trees in bloom
sky dark
with 10 am
clouds

everything moves faster
then your eyes
can keep
up


a whining baby in an SUV
toxic chemicals in a tanker truck
the suicidal everyman
slink comfortably
in the front seat
of a beige sedan

looking out the window
is all you can do
as the world speeds by you
and you only stand
still

walking down the road now
my car named ‘my writing’
abandoned 3, 4, 5, 10 miles
back

it’s hot,
too hot
and the sun shines down on me
making me sweat uncomfortably
and
the road is long
too long for me
because it seems like I’ve been walking forever
and yet I haven’t seen a sign of humanity yet

then it comes screeching down
the road; a car not used to the
speed it has now; and in it is
a man desperately looking for
me

he spotted me
before I spotted
him and just as
I first heard his
tires melting to
the asphalt he
was jumping
out at me his
tongue tied to
the thought he
was trying to
eject from his
body

his talk excited,
he said: “is that
your car?”

I stare blankly

“is that your car?”

“what car” I say

“the one on the side
of the road! that one!”
he spurted out grin
wide

yes,
I think
so

“fantastic!
let me give
you a lift!”

ok
I say

ok
I said
not knowing
what to think

he asked me question after question
(about the car)
and told me how it was a masterpiece!
a genuine miracle! a historic marker
that I must continue to bring  to the world!

ok
I said
(I disagreed,
the piece of junk
had just left me in
the desert remember)

he called a tow truck for the car
he dropped me off at my house
he gave me $5000 dollars (for the car)

and then he drove off
smile on his face

I looked at the money,
the tuckered out car,
my house and thought:

How lucky. Maybe there
is something to this car

maybe there was,
because I just got
back in it and drove
down the highway
like usual

big drops drop down on
everything as the evening
consumes the day

it is neither
cloudy nor night
yet
it still rains

suddenly the world
is all wet

suddenly the animals
are all hid

suddenly my music
has a new rhythm
section

but nothing is
different

it’s only
raining

A little boy
walks up his mother and
says
“Mother,
I am
scared”

The mother will lean down
ever so gently
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
to be afraid
of”

The little boy
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the storm
comes
rocking his house
and tearing it to
small pieces
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his house
in one piece

A young soldier
walks up to his captain and
says
“Captain,
I am
scared”

The Captain will look at him
with hard eyes
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
you can be afraid
of”

The young soldier
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the enemy
comes
killing his friends
and leaving him to
die there
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his friends
safely recovered in the hospital


A young man
walks up to another young man and
says
“Man,
I am
scared”

The other young man won’t even look at him
putting him on edge
and say in the most
uninterested way
“Then you’re
letting
someone scare
you”

The young man
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when his life
starts moving
making him more
afraid than ever
and he refuses help
for fear of being
afraid even more
he will still be
afraid
but he will not over come
it and he shall only survive
to see that other young man
take over the duties that he
was unable to perform

so now it’s ten
fifty-five PM
and I sit here
alone
with my computer
slowly edging out
everything that I
couldn’t say as those
shells of people
walked my halls

in truth,
I hate them all

I hate their laugh
I hate their smiles
I hate their “hello, how are you!”s
I hate their greedy faces as they eat my food
I hate their moving bodies
I hate their requests for more, more, more! when I’d already given them
everything

I hate it all

half way through
I sat upstairs pulling a nasty splinter
out of the hard ball of my left foot
and when I finally got it out
and I retracted my leg from its twisted pretzel shape
I felt a million tiny pains
shoot up from that leg
and then back into my
brain

I didn’t yell but I wanted
to

and I know that if they had been
there
watching me pull that tiny wooden sliver
out of my foot
and then spreading my leg out
and feeling all that pain
they would’ve laughed
laughed
and
laughed
and
laughed

and I wouldn’t
have

later on
I will play pranks
shoot back jokes
enjoy myself
just as they had
done
and all I will get is ***** looks,
angry grimaces, threats on my
life in the billions

and I will feign surprise

I don’t what it is
but I’m always
the bad guy

call me a ****
call me a ****** bag
call me a ****-******* jacked-up *******

but the moment,
the moment,
I return any of that
(no matter how truthful)
I become all that worse
every
single
time

and as the night ends
and their numbers slowly
dwindle away

I watch the door swing close
just as quickly as it had swung
open and I
smile
smiling is all I can
do

slow down
bring the music to a quiet
keep your heart rate at a calm
this world moves fast enough already
without your screaming speeding it up

in a panic
never make a decision
the key is to stop it
even if just second
then you can rationalize,
think, organize, plan,
then you can make a decision
and move on

the world will always move fast than you do
and we humans aren’t designed to live
at the speed of the world
but we, more than any
other creature,
can slow it all
down
and be
calm

I can admit to knowing what alone feels like

I can admit to knowing why I felt alone

I can admit to pushing others away
I can admit to saying no to their love

I can admit to crying in a crowd of people
I can admit to burning a tissue offered for my tears
I can admit to crying more as that tissue burned

I can admit to being petty
I can admit to being brave

I can admit to creating my suffering

I can admit to knowing what alone feels like

I can admit to ending it
I can admit to that once I had the strength of others to fight it off

one hand moves up
the other moves up
in response

one leg sweeps sideways
the other sweeps sideways
as well

one mind thinks
the other thinks
the same

there is no mirror
yet the image is
the same

two bodies,
completely opposite,
just reflections
of the same

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
dance a new dance
or at least new to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
live a new life
that’s a mystery to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
move their feet like hands
and their hands like wings

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a new world
all in my eyes

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
soar like eagles
but never leave the ground

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a dance
that’s different for all

the line
the circle
the twist
the bend
the dip
the dive
the cross
the cave

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
do this and more
and it’s all new to me

note cards
4 x 9
yellow
purple
blue
white
red

one goes “ha ha ha”
while the other looks out upon a corn field
and the river running through it
still another shows a man in blue
who’s existence is but a mistake
and then finally one writes out bold and simple
“I fear”

I look upon the wall
the note cards
4 x 9
are the first step
and yet only more
to add to those I’ve
already taken

falling back into this deadly disease
all I want to do is sleep
and now it’s 10 pm
and I should’ve been sleeping
long ago
but my mind moves too fast
to know the pain
and thus I sit here at 10 pm
music flowing from the speakers
and typing this poem to muse on my
choice

“all life ends in eternity”

I say it once

“all life ends in eternity
all life ends in eternity”

I say it twice

“all life ends”

I break it down

“eternity is the end of all life”

to even simpler pieces

“life isn’t eternal?”

it couldn’t be I think

“life becomes eternity?”

but then what is eternity?

“life is eternity?”

hmm

“all life ends in eternity
all life ends in eternity”

I say it twice

“all life ends in eternity”

I say it again

all life ends in eternity

and I look into eternity
for the first time