You lose all touch
when limits lift the brush—
both reason and heart
fall still in the hush.

No balance endures
once the self flames to star—
it cleaves unto kin,
the near and the far.

You and I purge
through the void’s pale hiss.
No breath, no urge—
when nothing’s amiss,
none wake from abyss.

I — (03/18/2025)

I thought I might be able to
revisit this tonight. No,

     &

II — (03/23/2025)

There are brief moments where
the thought of you whistles by
and I'm reminded of the time
we spent spitting **** abreast
your apartment door, exhaling
lungfulls of this and that,

     &

III — (03/24/2025)

I hope you when your hand
met mine in awkward cordiality
and your pupils dilated at
my skin-stretched smile
found some sage and cedar
peels tucked in the cheek of
some future me,

     &

     —

a potion maker,  
seeking the formulae
of the combination
of the
known and the none,
the wizard’s ideation
of the secret spark of
creation, the starter fire
of human destiny & desire

who needs gold,
when,
the power of birth,
the mystery of girth
the fluids of oils,
plus 57 varieties
of human blood,
in a precise tabulation
the sap of human cell
constructs, heated
gentle on a low flame,
do not forget, or regret
if the salt & pepper
of discernment is
overlooked, the sighs,
the quiet of boredom,
the leveling moments
when creation is initiated

and then
my heart can be
known to some,
even careful read
between the lines ~
the lines on my eyes,
the cross hatch upon
a forehead, the crinkles
where time and laughter
intersected and injected
the whites spaces between
these words

enough enigma…

never!

I've thought deep and true for an idea,
Of a topic I can center my poem on.
There was none that surfaced,
So none shall it be.

No weight of subject to anchor us down,
No limits to hinder, no thoughts to drown.
In the vast expanse where stillness is known,
The heart of nothingness is brightly shown.

Akin to the sound of one hand clapping,
Like raging winds in the eye of the storm,
Let us contemplate on nothing,
Let us define the absence of form.

A blank canvas for something to exist,
The absence for the heart to grow fond,
It is a silence so deep, where echoes are drawn,
The root of the void where all things are gone.

Without, none, nothing, doesn't exist,
Synonyms, or a sentence wrongly punctuated.
One thing is for certain: this poem's been fun.
A topic to discuss, indeed I have... none.

The premise of amounting to nothing,
Can be comforting.
If you think you are capable enough
To affect real change.
And if you are, and
Do not, you are no
Man. And if
None of us act,
We are all ******.

she was never in love
and never will
my hope was lost
but i like her still

A warm Southern summer night
Dozens of cork bobbers
Dancing the night away
Speaking softly.
Where has it gone
A thought not one had.
We were taught not to wonder.
It's just life
The way it has always been.

There is no need for noble graces, with you, I have none. Just one entreat, request and command: "Come."

'You' see me for what I truly am, behind this regalia of dignity and honour; hides a ****** man. Now come, and heed my command.