Stilling,
a word that ain't right
Stilling, I feel the stillness still in me
Just for a second
I need continuing
rhythmic breaths keeping
I am not thinking, but am I?
Am I breathing right and stilling my mind?
Go figure, I am sleepless sleeping all the time.

Slipping,
Like I had time and it is spilling
Like now how much more do I possess
Peace is slipping from the best of the hands
We were calm before, future uncertain
It's the present I don't know
It's in second break, slipping into a trance

Stopping,
My thoughts like a top, endlessly spinning
A spiral of worries, a ceaseless hum
Is this a dream, or has my reality come undone?
The world spins on, indifferent to my plight
Trapped in this moment, suspended in night
I yearn for an end, a quiet release
From this relentless turmoil, I seek inner peace.

Sinking,
Deeper into the silence, slowly shrinking
The edges of my being, blurring and faint
A whisper of self, a silent complaint
The weight of the world, a heavy embrace
Leaving no room for time, no time, no space.
Just this hollow echo, a fading sound
As I lose myself, nowhere to be found.

Surrendering,
To the quiet starking dark, no longer contending
The fight has left me, a weary sigh
Beneath the vast and indifferent sky.
This hushed acceptance, a strange new grace,
A fading pulse in this empty space.
No more struggle, just a gentle sway,
As I finally let go of this body, and drift away.

You got a good name, good height, everything alright
What you turned inside, is emotional oversight
Incredibly twisted, any word is tiring
You overthink everything like you are competing.

Competition is with whom, the older you?
The truth is so loud, but sometimes beyond true!
Because the complexity turned infinity
With all unreleased sores, you choose indefinitely.

Picking apart all the plucked up parts
You dream of designs something off the charts
The reality hits, stings incomprehensibly
This danger looms always grievously.

Seriously you have bright future, but you wear shades
So everything you see is dark tinted
So much for innovation, the heart finds problems
We will always think about unused items.

worlds are collapsing, rising; dictators exhale,
entangle the veins of world
some ideas preserve salty streets like janitors of the dark
summer keeps the score of perfumed nights
I indulge in the womb of heat
wounds are retreating in sequestered spaces -
the seeds of the future.
there is a chill in the air, dread strikes near and far
light flows like the dance stuck in my bones
everywhere the pulse of time, dreaming

On our way into
Santa Anita one day,
an old man had tipped
over in his wheelchair.
There was a pool of blood
beneath his smooth head.
I was with my Dad.
He was around the same
age as the poor injured man.
I was 12.

Seeing that man, and watching
the blank stares of the apathetic
crowd gathering around the
man, and the blood, and the
fallen wheelchair, I knew that
nobody would win, and the
horses that ran were the luckiest
of us all.