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Daily dreams remind me of the absence of heart and mind
accompanying those of no inner intent
as they babble on in talks of turns
and bumble down the road to and from the bar.
Unconsciousness calls! Quick! Drink to reply!

I pass some spirit zombies on my way into the world,
staying up late enough to see my own ghosts,
talk to my own shadow.
A reminder of the former undevelopments I owned.

I’ll leave lovers I never loved in the dust of my path
for the betterment of a future I yet know not
but in mind, where it’s all pretend-
this life focuses
sharper and sharper
into completion.

The world is so full of gray.

My heart breaks when I’m around those who don’t see it, can’t feel it, can’t hear it, can’t touch it.

Two hearted boy, the sun has come
revealing all that is and was,
after a long day’s night.

There is no grief left, no Monday morning meditation to be had.
There is only your sarcophagus sitting silently upon the threshold barrier.

If anyone could open that stone death-blanket they’d see your ravaged soul fly out into the Tao,
wanting, waiting, wishing for the opportunity for your next life. I’ve never desired to anticipate my next heartbreak much like you do now.
As for your body, all dressed in black, as if it mourns along with anything else present,
If, perhaps there is a girl bold enough to undress it, she will see the holes in your shoulder blades.
Where once you flew, you’ve been stripped and hung upside down; how else will the blood drain?
I’ve never desired to anticipate my next heartbreak much like you do now.
She’ll see the life you once had and the life you have now, offering to prostrate herself to you, in hopes of infinite flights, ever lasting feelings, and serendipity among the stars.
All this talk of infinity and you’ve gone cold. In a room that is kept cold by the silence surrounding it; two hearted boy, you’ve disappeared.
Fly back down from that infinite loop of life after life, life after life, life after life
Bring life into the room, invisible, unheard, and untouched life
into the mouth of that prostrated girl who dares to reach with whispered words of goodbyes and adieus
Vanishing into the abyss of time and space where you wait in want of your next life without having given a gift, your gift to this present life.
Give your gift to this present life.
I’ve never desired to anticipate my next heartbreak much like you do now.

Words are literal in one level of depth. They have the ability to be used to create a direct meaning within the context of what that word means. Words can be definitive in those contexts.

And in another they are also visceral. They have the ability to be used to create feeling; to shape an experience created by the emotional connection established with the meanings of the word. Using words to shape such experience is what the higher form of writing is for me. This is where the art lives. This is where stories are told.