my self : the muse

Month: January, 2012

turning stock

my mind is the veggie bin

forever overflowing

rank and rotten


heaps of compost


ripe for clearing


let us make room

for tomorrow’s delivery



artificial light belies

the darkness we

still grope through

thrusting hands, arms,

legs, ever forward

and around in

inconceivable emptiness

we seem to forget every existed

and in this streetlight’s

glow — maybe does not

except underneath and

through everything

hiding in the lying

flow of fake warmth

and constructed certainty

of incandescent life

so much put away

so many covers

and still

nowhere to hide

lofty fears

of pocketed hands

averted glances

in a moonless night

in a sunless life

in the sand

when the Red Tide recedes

from the inky blank midnight

what remains to tell the daylight

the horrors of endings

and pains of loss, disease

forever in the confluence

who will witness to the white sands

what will surely come again —

tired of listening

Be done with all accretion

to others’ thoughts and beliefs!

What could they possibly know

of this world

that can’t be known

or model

of this world

that can’t be formed?

All opinions are lies.

All rituals are half-truths.

Fingers point not only to the moon

but in the four directions –

to grief and lust

to hatred and conceit.

Running this way and that

you never settle with life,

but only achieve disaster:

transfixed with others, yet

too scared to leave them

—– alone —–

that is where knowledge lives

—– alone —–

the only pointing; back to yourself

—– alone —–

and standing as such; exalted; unheard

listening to silence.

midnight CVS decisions

beef-jerky, M&Ms
why not