Poets are those who are alone, if they had people, they would be their poems. So there are poets who have pieces of paper scrawled with words, and there are poets who have sinks full of dirty dishes. There are poems that people read and are moved by, and there are poems that live and breathe and move.

Which will you be to me?

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 "Money represents lack. Money represents things in the past (debt) and things in the future (credit), but money never represents what is present."- Suelo; a man who lives in a cave in Utah.

Occasionally trees are my favourite parts of the day,
the kinds white-flowered
huge and purple ink-tipped,
the mystery feeling
creeping over me
strange the joy that ( Read more... )

 I put my ear to your chest
and heard the sound of the ocean
as far and as cold
as the seas were to me

On the Mississippi side I keep my thoughts low
for things too great for me to know,
reside everywhere I turn

 Sorrow has always been more closely related to peace for me than pleasure.

Pleasure, fleeting at its best, leaves us deficient in some way.

Pleasure if it is the apex of human life is not enough.

We crave something stronger, something durable, something penetrating and accessible.

Pleasure is always us...plus something. What if I do not have access ( Read more... )

 Wilde. He started in flamboyance and ended in humility.

What do you do if you start with humility? Where do you go in order to have a beginning, middle, and end? Must you wait for pride to set in, for the world to change you, for your self corruption? Perhaps it is our fate to sit on stools like patients at a doctor surgery awaiting someone to tell ( Read more... )

 At age 24, I have decided to take up smoking. It has been drawn to my attention, after years of what can only be justified by childlike ignorance, that smoking draws one closer to God, relaxes the mind, and-in moderation-heals the body from all its distractions.

Damien Hirst composed an artwork wherein a line struck me, ' I don't trust people who ( Read more... )

 He stopped for the first time
and paced his steps to the same as the elderly man beside him. It isn't often that a human being resists the urge to overtake someone on the stairs, or even slows down to stay behind them. It is so rare that a human being walks alongside a stranger, that it seemd worthy to note.

An inspiration from Checkov's Cherry Orchard.  As I discover what it is to die to oneself from Tolstoy's Master and Man, and as I seek to face my own orchard and its impending death, this is what I uncovered.


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I occasionally wake with an image.

This one was of my two feet spinning as entire worlds; one revolving one way, on revolving another. Each step had me spinning with all the possibilities that instead of being fulifilled were replaced by the next feets grounding.

Yesterday I woke with a song, the same melody singing my emotions into the morning.

" ( Read more... )