i'm not showering any
more frequently than
i typically do

but every time i step in
that bathtub i swear
a whole day goes by

the water falling
turns into soft
concrete

and the drain
stops up and
i'm standing

ankle deep in
a brand new
sidewalk

soap suds running down
my legs and pooling
upon an unwalked path

and heaven only knows
how long before it all cracks
and i'm free.

Tell me a story, traveller,

of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.

of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.

of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.

of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.

of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.

of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.

of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.

of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.

of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.

Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.

Flip the page
What comes next?
Hurricane or Robin's Nest?

Road unwalked
Who can tell?
Tambourine or ringing bell?

Will my footsteps
single be?
Or will he walk next to me?

Will I float
between the stars?
Will I speed in bright red cars?

What does looking
forward bring?
A glass ever darkening.

How long will
my questions last?
How long till my now is past?

Tomorrow
never comes today.
Tomorrow never brings dismay.

Tomorrow is always
out of reach.
Today has so much more to teach.

I  am  no philosopher
I  am  Paul  from  The Meadows
pulled skinny  poor from the  shadows to put  a  deal of fat  on his bones

so  how  did   I  end  up   here?
what penalty did   I  accrue?

taking the  ten  point deduction for  conduct unbecoming
I  place my  attention  deficit on re-order that I  don’t  yet  forget

smothered  in the  scrim of this  Hogarthian hood every  chip toothed  blue   scriptured face
proffers  passage to a  poisonous but tantalising hook

to write the  junk  must I  taste the junk?

peddled or paddled for  a  sweeter  flight this  avenue never  taken,
hedonic ingress  unwalked,  unwanted yet  still wondered
could such  deep surrender  be   so  sweet to  allow the  most  intimate  of plunder?

am I  Dante?
corralled   around  the  streets
of a  society that  shows no compromise amongst  the  dying embers  of fallen  enterprise

eternal  damnable gyres around a  ****** **** pyre
of concrete,  glass  and  broken  humanity

with    each    uttered    breath    a    cold      cocktail    of profanity

the  bouncing soles of the  air  I  wear  may ease  me over  the  gummed archipelagos
flag  spij-speckle  guaran islands slab secure and  fast
against  the  counselled wash an  eternal  fossilised chaw
that  resists  the  fiercest chemical blast

lost in this  sea    I  cannot  be   but shaken  by the  waxy  man  with his  head  of startled  hemp and  coterie  of cracked  carbon
as  he breaches the  domestic brink

turning a key, his shoulders  hunched  in protective  shawl against

the  spittled spate
he stares  back through me
for  sightless  miles insides out,  front  to rear, then  scuffles, rattling,  townwardly

cannot resist  the  insecticidal compulsion of the  green  and  white purgatory
where  the  neatly  stacked  wash  of fluorescence makes  oven ready  your  heaven
amid the  threnodial thrum  of
a  hundred syncopated Siemens

following  that   shuffling   cortege  of  the   bussed  in dead and  dying
I  am dutiful, altar  bound, avowed and  accursed the  host with the  ghosts in this  haunted  mall lost  and  lonely  within  England’s  mountain  green
it  is no longer the  god   bothering needles and  blunts that    draw the crowds
as  flat  screened pharmacological rapture,
that  trinity  of distilled, medicated caffeination

lead   a   once   pious   nation   through   a   precocious dream

maybe Allah yet  sees  here  his
Jerusalem  and  leads his children
upon  England’s  land  of  crescent  green

forests remain, farther and farther away from us.

only streets, houses
accompany me
like a fingernail on an exhausted hand
wherever i might stop, everywhere,
pain is my compass

always, along this way

forever unwalked
given back to me

the scent of roses in the garden
the waters flooded long ago, belated
tenderness, time
besieged by
time

everything goes by so easily.
life. so easily
was i
forgotten

Andrei Zanca  from *My Cup of Light

Should the earth be but a quiet manor
A palace in forgotten elder oak
Where what used to fly, a threadbare banner
and all-conquering poison ivy chokes
Well, we'd explore every nook and cranny
leave no dusty, unread book on the shelf
our nose for secrets would be uncanny
until we know it better than ourself
No immovable stone will be unturned
No forgotten corridor will be unwalked
until all its riddles we will have learned
and every bolted door has been unlocked
for we discover what the world conceals
and go until the last secret, we steal

A barren road,
Clandestine place.
The path unwalked,
Sand undisplaced.
The final destination,
The route unpaved,
The end location,
Travelers be brave.
No light.
No pavement.
No lingering sounds from a nearby city.
Just a heart that pounds.

Another version of myself last night,
Visited me in a true lucid dream,
To share some news I could not first believe,
About the workings of the universe.

He told me what I already thought true,
That there are an infinite number of
Universes in the vast multiverse,
I smiled as though he’d said the sky is blue.

Then he went on to tell me that in all,
Live only different versions of ourselves,
On identical versions of each world,
In which self-aware beings with souls exist.

All versions of my other selves that live,
On infinite numbers of other earths,
Share but one soul identical at birth,
Shaped by the choices made in each lifetime.

As we all know each choice we make in life,
Can change our future both for good or ill,
And every version that exists of us,
Has made every possible choice in life.

No fork in the road has been left unwalked,
No door unopened in life’s long hallway,
An infinite number of each of us,
Has made every possible decision.

Free will reigns supreme in each universe,
And sharp blacks and whites in each human life,
Blur to diffused grays when viewed as a whole,
With pure good or evil hard to discern.

My other-self proved this by showing me,
A thousand samples of my other selves,
From across the multiverse, each different,
The result of their lifetimes of choices.

I was disappointed to find I am,
At best average among the others,
Better than some, worse than many others,
In no way exceptional or special.

Some of my other selves have cured cancer,
Some are junkies, alcoholics or mad,
Some are con men, thieves, some honest judges,
A few are homeless, more than just a few.

Some are wealthy and kind, or poor and cruel,
Some loving husbands and fathers, some not,
Some are healthy, strong, happy and prosper,
Some found life too hard to bear and checked out.

Some are the kind of men I love, like dad,
Some are the kind of men I loathe, like me,
Somewhere I’m every kind of man there is,
That was the true lesson I learned last night.

There are no degrees of separation,
Between all my other selves and this one,
And there’s no degrees of separation,
Between all human beings on planet Earth.

We are the same in every way that counts,
Save for the choices made in a lifetime,
That sculpt our souls into saints or demons,
And all the fine gradients in between.

Loves of my December,
frozen from the beginning
of my endings,
and the fall of my anguish.



In the winter of my solitude,

I trace the wrinkles
of fainting memories.
Breathing out a sigh of surrender
for the unspoken, the paths
unwalked, the doors unopened,
and the ghosts of love that remain
draped in the painful cloak of longing.

Yet, amidst the cold, I find grief
blooming like a flower in the snow.

For in the mirror of my December
I have found not just
the echo of what was lost,
But the prayers of April—
the goddess of renewal,
the angels of spring,
and the dawn of new beginnings.

How can I not rejoice?
For in this darkness,
there is light…

a car hums as the sun wakes
a new day. a move with a list
of numbers. they draw a truck.
clothes, books, bed, music, electronic accessories
another room
with skyscrapers
a balcony looking down

another stranger to unfold
to keep things from
flowing over a cliff
in a hidden forest
of charred trunks
crunching footsteps
bushwalkers

are still & squirrel
their screens
away from the canopy
eyes safe from cacophony
tentative steps
tread upon worn pathways
a new source of food

a *** simmers
infusing flavours
held & prepared
a plate with irregular patterns
the harbour stretches underneath
a path unwalked
another horizon

You remember how I told you
That yesterday was the last day
That I wrote to you

Well here I am...
Do you remember me?

I kept walking through
your streets still unwalked

But this time
I Grabbed a lighter and
I’ve walked and walked
And burnt them all

Now this is the last time
I ever write to you
With hopes of love
I let you burn

Cuz all those bridges
Are ashes
I can’t see anymore

Let me make it clear.

I am a shell of my former self.

The raindrop, unformed,
to be denied the pull of gravity.

But, if I close my eyes,
I can see divine assertions
of my former glory;
to be divulged and distributed
to everyone but myself.

Should I trust my senses
when all that's manifested
are insane twists of mind,
mazes lost in translation,
compasses circling upon themselves,
leading to unsettled destinations,
winding roads and battered shores
with waves eradicating
bits of my character?

When the floods come,
will we assign to the ark
creation
two by two?
Will we wait until the storm passes?

Behold me,
the solitary man!

Behold me,
a true island,
etched from rock
by the continous chisel
of earth's blood!

Vegetation untouched,
lacking maturity.
Earth unwalked,
lacking integrity.
Air uninspired,
lacking humanity.

But, if I close my eyes,
I can see the universe's plan
for my destiny,
placed on the shelf of life,
dusty and fossilized,
unmapped and unread.

I am not as I should be,
resisting the best within me.
Is it too late?
For me?
For me to retain my inheritance?

How will I find Polaris?
The skies remain murky
by the fog I have created.
Who will help me navigate?
Or will I continue to be the lost treasure
undiscovered?

Many roads, unwalked
many things unseen
many lives, unlived
I leave you to yourself
Be wild as you were born
Dance and be yourself  
I was just a sparkle in your life
Not my girlfriend not my wife
I was just a sensation
A moment in creation
Does your hand still feel like that day
When you touched my face
When the moon was big and rich
Do you remember?
Or i am lost and washed away by time
by the sea of life
Life that we could share
Just imagine..

The paved road walks straight and cobbled
The crowd it holds - a choo-choo train
Neither forwards nor backwards reveal the way straight
But the road beside it swirls and twirls
Concordance of illusions where up equals down
The path is dirt, mud and stone
Yet there are some stubborn souls who trudge wearily on
The path in the middle does not yet exist
Unlit and untamed leading into the woods
But I know it is the one I’ll take
Through gnarls and thickets and thorns and beasts
To be cut and slashed and burned and slayed
Then behind me my willing flock
Follows me through the still unforged path
To the unknown plains of life’s uncertainties
Either to riches, to doom, or to doom within riches
And where the uncertain path is the uncertain home
Then traveller’s feet will create the way
And it shall flatten beneath to become dirt and stone
Then when the rain falls and lightning strikes
Mud will run like a river
And up will seem like down
Then the flock dwindles but the strong strive on
Because soon the path will become paved and straight
No nature to tame nor beasts to slay
The darkness through will be lit by lamps
Crackling through the night in their eternal fire
The docile road uncertain no longer
The crowd it holds - a choo-choo train
Then another one of us will learn to walk
The path of life and pick their own
On another path yet unwalked
Their journey begins once again
Leaving behind my paved and cobbled road.

Slow-going wheels roll further
Slow men walk the earth chewing french fries
Slow night diminish slow, with an embarked illusion
Slow me, drinking slow, from the bottle that no shining fear dive deep down
With ******* my life dangles, my hands weak and wildered
With somebody in my mind, I slowly, subconciously **** myself
Somebody betrays somebody, denies her name, or his
Denies the carnaval-looking blur of a dreadful pain
Carnavals, haven’t been to carnavals for years, but I know how they dismay
I’m aware of myself at some degree, it satisfies me for I can look up and stray
I’m aware of the passion of my source of pain, yet I don’t know
It makes me shiver like an aimless stone
Pain walks upon the geography

Slow rhymes mask my voice through an unwalked scenery
Slow songs hit my soul like the smell of gasoline, each night, tonight
Tonight I struggle to find my bed in guilt of missing one more day, being loss of control on one more chance
One more glance, I prayed my dandy days to be, yet I don’t believe
And I don’t trust in anything that I admire, that I’ve never had, tonight especially
My abilities burn, burn, burn to a crimson coldness, I can neither get cold nor freeze
Every dismal day has something to teach, but I’m stone deaf and blind since the birth of my criminal being
Said that I’m one old tryer, one slow man that died earlier, living via senses
I’m breathing for nothing, as I sensed, at least that’s a good thing I guess
Tonight, I’m breathing my own graceless dirt, I’m breathing someone that will become me of some other kind
Pain barks its all greed

I was told of slow massacres of liberty, and I saw it with my bare eyes
I was told of slow tensions that could shape an affair from my fears of love, but I didn’t mind until the time I got clipsed to the iron bars as I tossed to someone’s wall
I got clipsed to myself all along the snipers’ castles where the mushrooms just fix to die, the point I always teased myself
There’s always been slow approachings to a mind’s eye felony
There’s always been a slow matter of time to catch the agony of others’ existence, even when I appreciated with someone that didn’t mean to mean good, or meant to be fine
Decades sewed blisters on my elbows, knees, my manhood, my ******* manhood
And my functional sides started not to make a beneficial man out of me, it’s clear tonight
I see a barroom right across the buildings in front, it boils with such huge river of crowds, but I don’t really want to walk there because of pain
It pours my skin down to the ground like as an axe shaving me off me
The air’s already blue now, blue as a kidnapped kid’s wishes from the little circle of life
I’m blue but I can’t get mixed up to the airwaves as long as I try to sharpen myself
I try to sharpen myself with the most lobed piece of stick, and this causes everything I abandoned to be a nightmare in my sleep, and my daytime ramblings, and it causes a killing pain
Pain disregards

Slow strings of reality judder this up that down, clang all the faith one man has once althrough his wasted life
Slow links of chain drags the cruelty from the claws of a cryptic eastward state
There’s no boundries through from everything I know to nothing I don’t know
Idols and spooned clowns look the same, sleeves of lies put them onto an act and they resurrect on my small buzzing TV
Everything can make a man commit suicide, as far as all I’ve learned from life
As far as I can teach, amountless glasses of whiskey solves that if someone looks for an easy way out
To get away from the streetlamps that targeted you, to brick up some brand new shelter against the interrogations, to be on the lam, to run, slowly
To leave the other sycophants on the midway, to break some glasses, to craft some endless rebellion, are the other options I guess
To bless someone that don’t even care, and then the lifelong heart attacks...
I don’t pay to much to my custody of survival, I have my own property on this sphere
I can pull out some dignity, as I have it on my mind, and this just gives men like me pain
Pain doesn’t tell much these days, it just attacks and attaches and grabs me by taking firm steps towards my bones
The unbreakable threads of my shadows push me to same pathetic nosedives, tonight I feel it intensively, befriending with pain
Pain, it speaks my eulogy
Slow pain, it wrecks my fantasies

There are so many roads untaken.
So many paths unwalked.
Footsteps leading nowhere..
Footprints leading everywhere..

Those footsteps ahead
  are now footsteps behind

The past but a memory
  the future declines

My cadence is slowing
  my direction unclear

When frozen in place
  on the wind I can hear

Quiet footsteps ahead
  louder footsteps behind

Their sound fast approaching
  to reclaim and remind

The years stay unpromised
  except for the end

Each step left unwalked
  trailing closer—portends

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

I tell myself, Not now, but soon,
As hours slip by and day turns to moon,
Each task a shadow, a whisper, a weight,
Pushed to the future, left for fate.

The list grows longer, a towering spire,
Each undone deed fuels the fire,
A creeping pressure, a heavy chain,
The echoes of time call out my name.

One more scroll, I plead, I stall,
As unfinished work begins to sprawl,
The walls close in, the air turns tight,
Procrastination steals my fight.

I see the path I should have tread,
The steps unwalked, the words unsaid,
Yet here I sit, in stillness bound,
With every choice, I lose more ground.

The weight of delay becomes my cage,
A storm of regret, a quiet rage,
Trapped in a cycle, I fight to break free,
But the grip of avoidance clings to me.

Still, I rise with a trembling start,
A small rebellion, a beating heart,
One task, one step, one fleeting win,
A crack of light lets hope begin.

For though the mountain looms ahead,
And doubts still whisper in my head,
Each effort, no matter how slight or small,
Chips at the fortress, crumbles the wall.

Procrastination, you won’t define,
The rhythm, the purpose, the life that’s mine,
I’ll fight your hold, though the battle is long,
With steady resolve, I’ll grow strong.