The Individual Lie




Someone has already been here

Always, even if you are still

Unaware of her presence.

You are never alone, even

When you are alone, in awe

On a mountain cliff’s edge.

Someone has been here—

Even if only in imagination

Someone has been where you go.

Everyone you have met—

Everyone you have read—

Everyone, even the slightest touch

Has always already existed

Inside you now, and forever.


(October 26, 2018)


Flower as Metaphor



I am not a flower

about to bloom, nor

one whose petals have fallen.


I am not a flower,

nor is this poem

my prurient confession:


I am not a flower

worn like a corsage,

or draped on coffin tops.


I am not defined

like a bridal bouquet

for I am not a flower.


Flowers are more

than what they are;

I am only what I am.


(July 31, 2018)

Blur Into Heaven



The words above the door

replicated and smeared

themselves along the wall.


With one stroke, I saw

what drugs decades before

revealed in delusion:


For a surety,

our projections turn

back proffering chains.


Yet, no chains exist beyond

our myopic visions;

the earth begins and ends


with a whisper, with a shout,

with inarticulate gargling


(May 15, 2018).