the worst feeling is knowing what the poem is about.
when you are watching it unravel, just to be relayed in a swirl of pixels
the room seems a little darker
a good, long sleep sounds a little nicer
wait for it all to pass and then wake up years later,
just to see that nothing has changed.
see the hope is,
when you sleep -
or rather just close your eyes for a second -
it's not really happening.
it is not as bad as it seems.

dark nay drawn blank
thick as the ice against a bank
i remember colors heavy and droll
and that wind light with cirrus like
winters collar neath a hood
soft stoll
decoratorhipship
decorum factum

while a river of purpose
spreads like a stain
on the ancient stretch
an open world
seeping translucent
speed
a happiness
indifference

you and i were
once upon
its time

a scene of a crime
collusion
like a starburst
blare

GRIEF

What words are worth the telling
when they have been told before.
there are no eyes to see
beyond what they want to see
more than they want to know..

What is this thing called “grief”
that makes us suffer so
what heart embraces another
lost to its own humanity.
What words of consolation
where there are none.

Each of us dances in circles
like planets around the sun
never touching
never knowing the other one.

I would've electrified the air,
sparkled it with rust and lemons.
Ah, but there is not time for that!
Only time
for
aggravating
and troublesome demands
flooding like
paper chairs
in the water.

I would have dreamt of more solutions.
Left them littered like dandruff
on the pinnacle of creation.
Ah, but there is not time for that!

There's never time for impossibilities.
Too many
concrete diaper's
demanding to
be filled.