Distant Earths

i could hide
for a hundred
thousand years

and still emerge
with the same spectrum
of debilitating fears

avoidance does nothing
to avail our evolution

for the breadth of our experience
carries on in our dearth

and distant earths
may yet reveal
our present form unknown

nonetheless

a consciousness
cannot eclipse
its own immortality
for all eternity

and yet . . .

[image credit: Fumihiro Kato]

As I

i thought about writing
a suicide note

what it will say
if anything

to whom it will be addressed
if anyone

what each person will think
if anything

most people
will never find out

alas
there is no cause for alarm

we are here

we are gone

i have no wish
to see the sun

i know what role this life permits me

only in death
is freedom found

i do not need to be remembered
to be free

. . .

i love you.

i love you like a dying star
loves a midnight sky
through eyes of innocence

the wrath of time’s restraint
it paints the moon
as i lay silent

casting off abandoned scars
and erstwhile sentiments unsung

in shadows of our truths untold

let me not spiral
into such hollow affectations

of this entropy transposed

so grave is its disparity
in remnants
left behind

written on walls
in exile unseen
surrendered

to the aftermath
unknown

with nothing
left
to say

we languish
in our broken idyll

so duly run its course

as i

Invalid

you didn’t click like

that’s all I needed
to know

forget the fact
that you might not
have seen it

that you might
be inundated
with the incessant burdens
of life’s duress

forget
the fact
that life exists
for you
outside of myself

but most of all

forget

that you
might not
have actually liked it

Hollow

this pithy endeavor

shadows of dust
masquerading through time

i looked away
laughing

returning
to barrenness

the warmth
of her touch

once
insisted eternity

how quickly
it vanished

seen
through open eyes

this sand
shifts beneath us

swallowing memories

until we are hollow

devoid
of our sentiments

i still walk beside her

footsteps
in spectral snow

when all
turned to nothing

and she was no longer

and i

left behind

[image credit: Odilon Redon]

Precipice

stranded
between the contrast
defining the moon

a face
e’er blazoned
to man

dark
and unseen

vibrant
and garish

either
is not
what it seems

Ode to Zechariah

long before light
cleft the heavens in twain
a movement
of manhood emerged

unlike the unsavory
dissidents prior
his was a station deserved

he fostered conviction
amongst the rapt populace
stoically instilling mindful revolt

fully apprised of philosophies spoken
unlike static sophists consisting of molt

fervent emotions born of empathy
ever consuming his radiant heart
salient locution so poignantly posed
lingered long after he bid to depart

tales of his august aplomb echoed through the vales
prose poised to avail the downtrodden denizens

parlance empowering dispelled compatriots
apposite to proletariat wards

forged in the fires of familial defect
stuttering sopor
societal ire

nonetheless, pwning the epic drum solo
from “too hot for teacher” when he was but twelve

not having given an “F” he sought “T”
and tempered his mind with the breadth thus required
of the scant few i regard as elite
he is one by whom i’m duly inspired

Deep within this tattered husk lies the hope
to someday avow this Marxist of a man
of every last tender kiss wrought by his words
intended for naught but to better this land