I am talking to myself,
or projections of myself,
when I write these poems
to you. Either way,
the audience is oblivious—
focused on melodrama
with a simple plot
to turn attention
from my intent,
and your distractions.
(July 21, 2018)
Category: hermenutics
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I write into myselfa space to survivethe expectations and liesthat have become my home.This is no autobiography,but a bald accusation,of anyone who daresarrive at a readingand not see themselvesinscribed upon the page.I have become myself,naked and exposed,despite interpretationsformed in other’s woes.(September 17, 2017) -
there
by
a position withouttranscendencewithout departurea solidityon which to standlike stepping stonesin a rivertherebut an eggshellas our skyawaits anotheranother wayunder a truthinto anothertherewelcomes beliefthen feedsuntil no otherturns back to airlike an exhalationinto silence(October 24, 2015) -
“nothing comes from nothing”William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act 1.1an arrogant yet thoughtlessaesthetic with only elanand a memory for namesto bastion his opinionsagainst irrelevance’smocking laughter(December 7, 2013) -
as if any given can be divinedas to its true justificationyes no yes no yes separated untilthe true binary collapses to onewhich is squarely seen to be nomore than what is said to bestripped clean of any tacitobligations to more than nowwithout causality’s shades cloudingstark judgment’s clear sightas she lays her lidless eyes upon my lifethen turns upon the detritusto make similar claims upon it all(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 10, 2013) -
like lover’s arms wrapped around each other’s bodiespulling from the vast continental watershedsof eastern and western north americathe ohio and mississippi rivers come togetherthen flow next to each other for milesa clear demarcation between one and the otherbefore finally merging together into one long flowjust as we too come together with a single kiss(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 6, 2013) -
with superfluous gracehe shows you the waywaving you downhis well-defined pathdon’t think too muchabout whether to goyour freedom to chooseis just part of his showloyalty lieslike so many thingsin the polished truncheonof his outstretched hand(from a work in progress: “Arcana,” November 5, 2013) -
Just as you can only see your face’s reflection,Only you know what you know and do within.What aspect are you willing to show?What part of you will you riskTo save the part of you that’s you?Can you still find the line to protectThe border of what you call home?Or can you further sub-divide your soul,Until there’s nothing left of you at all?(from a work in progress: “Arcana” , November 5, 2013) -
withoutthe wild wheatwaves undulantintuitive like windwhat reason existsif any existdivides outsidethe yes and yeswe’re wrappedwithin the procreantsurge of starsa waterfall’s rushand crash overthe edge of the worldto where we gatherto sing our songsafe in the armsof her enduring love(from a work in progress: “Arcana” , November 4, 2013
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open another bookfollow the linesfinger the wordslift her veilsuch kisses liewithin the mindseductive turnsaway awaywhat’s leftdependsupon directiontwo roadsone wayyours and mine(work in progress, Arcana, November 4, 2013) -
within my handsI hold the worldmark thisthe horizon drawsa simple linelook herenot thereor therenot hereone hides(divides )one fromthe otherbeneaththe cupliesa swordreach for a coinbe hit with a clubkeep your eyeon the swirlcells splitthen splitagainuntilthe oneis lostwithinthe world(work in progress, “Arcana”, November 4, 2013) -
the miniature dog yaps at his heelsruining an otherwise delightful strollthe sun is out the sky is bluethe trail provides a mountain vieweach step he takes brings him closerthe whereto and wherefrom do not matterthe dance itself creates his dayeach moment a circle along his wayhis story propels him toward the edgethe dog leaps and barks before the ledge(work in progress, November 4, 2013)
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