Thursday, June 15, 2017


there is no beginning to this end,
nor an end to the beginning,
all there is, is the middle,

of nothing and nowhere

there can be no less of hope, when there is simply none,
there is no malady, but simply in the mind,
there is no mind, but in its own imagination,

this is mobius' mental eternity

absent hope is the salve,
to the non-existent malady,
of the imaginative mind,

apply gently

Wednesday, May 7, 2014


I can,
be this,
a beginning,
an end, or even just
the middle,

I can,
also be this,
a prologue,
an epilogue, or simply
somewhere in the riddle,

I can,
the present,
the past, or hopefully
the distant distant future.

what I can not be,
is this,
what I can,
never ever really ever be,
and because this bears,

to be said again,
what I can,
never ever really ever be,
is simply,
an afterthought.

Friday, October 19, 2012


it can be this,

a simple plea, or

a litany of words,

meaningless, and


all wrapped,

in one, and

the same,

meaningful, and


litany of words, or

simple plea,

it is this.

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Sunday, January 22, 2012


we sit guard,
at the doors of our past,
the only ones knocking,
are our own demons,
to be released,
to rummage and plunder,
through now,

the now is good,
it always is,
when threatened,
if perched perilously,
on the edge of oblivion,
from the past,
let the sleeping monsters lie,

the best grave,
well deserved,
a eulogy without memories, and
the epitaph unmarked,
silence -
eloquence of the dead.

Friday, November 11, 2011


it is this.

there is no meaning,
outside these words,
no warmth,
outside this cold embrace,
no noise,
more defeaning than this silence,
no conversation,
more satisfying than this monologue,
no brightness,
more incandescent than this blazing darkness,

it is this.

and this is,
as it should be.

Sunday, October 16, 2011


what i hold,
a shiny piece of fractured glass,
uneven edges, scarred within,
my window into the violent world,

what it truly is,
is a mirror,
telling of all faults,
it reflects who i am,

no more a soothsayer,
than one's most earnest desires,
no more a window,
than one's wishful thinking,

'tis time, however
to cast the broken aside,
to take on reality, truth
and build on what's alive.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


what life denies you,
you try, and
find in love,
what love denies you,
you try, and
seek in death,
when death defies you,
you walk, 'round
and 'round,
in a daze,

when snarls,
and growls,
forget to convey,
when tears, and
whimpers fail,
leaving a pile,
on that ground,
stomped on,
stepped on, or over,
kicked out, or about,
just remember,

you're not the first,
neither will you,
be the last,
we've all been there,
one way, or
another, everyone
goes about,
with a broken heart,
or temporarily mended,
but nobody wears,
it on their sleeve,

the salve,
is for you to find,
where, when, and
here, now, or
over that bridge,
are all,
your choice,
to find life, and
love, or simply
fade away.