Again and again
I'd tell myself
"it'll be worth it."
And I'd believe it to be
Gospel truth,
if only you'd believe it too.

But there I was,
ready to leave,
ready to finally cash in my chips,
the first night you looked back.

I never told you
how close you were,
that it was the trailer or me.
I was there
ready to leave,
to leave it all a memory
until you blinked.

I could call up and say hello,
a few buttons pushed and hear a voice
or drive a bit, not far to go.
For years and years I had the choice.

One by one they all fell out of touch.
It wasn't their fault, wasn't mine
like chicks leaving from their clutch.
I pretended all was fine.

Until now there are no old ones left,
no one whose council I can seek.
From my life they've all been cleft.
Whose advise should I now seek?

time jumps
winks in and out
within the matrix of
the collective hallucination

each quantum-microsecond
it recreates
every scene
every dream

so, at moments -
those between the nows -
I have nowhere
to physically exist

where am I
who am I
when time is not?
.

He made them by the dozen and so swift.
Quite unremarked the cups all seemed to be.
A haggle, then Denarii, then the gift
is taken for the slave’s new bride to be.

Upon a Sunday morning brisk and cold,
they watch a crowd lay palm leaves for a man
who rides upon an ass, yet seeming bold.
Another huckster, think they, with his clan.

A night of turmoil, fear and wrongful threats;
they beat him ‘til his flesh is stripped from him.
Upon the tree he bleeds, the cups are wet.
The old man casts the fullest as a whim.