Unknown – in search for life origin:
Undiscovered slivers of divinity
Left, and their right to pursue a clue
In a futile mission
Among random stars.
Known – in search for life ending:
Uncovered shades of docile truth
And the false hope of another go,
A further road that might lead to
A final home.
Non-binary – the search for truth,
The search to escape the fools,
The truth as evidence and means
Of avoidance, a searching mind
Clueless yet going – ad infinitum.
I’ve been waiting for someone to crack my head open,
Spilling all of its contents across the pavement
Like a bleeding Sunday morning yolk.
Please transform me into a shell of my former self
So I can be trapped in a perpetual state of nostalgia.
Tales of another man shall echo through the northeast corridor,
All the way out into the faraway mountains of Northern Jersey,
Where people will mistake these stories for some newly unearthed prophecy.
You and your sterilized eyes and mind
Shall become consumed in the ecstasy of better days,
When we’d sit dazed and stupefied, catching solar flares with our retinas
Waiting to see which one of us would blink first.
The opalescent nature of our sundown conversations
Will forever be memorialized in all those photographs we forgot to take.
I guess those moments shall become rumors too,
Known to be true by no one aside from you & I.
We were bound & blinded by our desire for unrestricted flight
Away from this city whose burned down buildings only made us colder,
Shuttering as life’s cruel sense of humor flew way over our heads.
There was so much suffering brooding from the dim-lit doorways,
Men & women tossing around on newspaper beds, searching for inked stained comfort.
Some of them must’ve come from the corners of the country,
Hoping that life here would be better than out west.
The coasts will always serve as polar opposites to each other,
With the same ol’ chaos lurking beneath the skin deep change of scenery.
The journey is the closest we can come to disconnection,
Placing ourselves in an environment completely alien.
Yet, no matter how far we run, we’re surrounded by oceans,
Nature’s barrier between us and our wildest imagination.
Across the waves lie unspoken taboos, ritual serving to further misguide us
From that sense of understanding we’ve pieced together,
Like a quilt of singed fabrics, with each thread serving as a reminder
To a part of life we wish to be left behind.
What are we now but disheveled casts of our former selves?
We let the struggle get the best of us
And now we climb alongside Sisyphus,
Helping him push the boulder to the top
Convinced that it takes two sets of hands
To conquer our man-made concept of death.
No eyes, no truth revealed;
No lies, yet worried worries
Dance along a pavement
Like worries along a sidewalk
Across a pond, across a sea
Of dreams, behind a veil
Of sincerity.
Some say we have no choice,
And I agree, as I contemplate
The task of writing of the essay
To compare and contrast
Two Romantics, two approaches;
To find the words and … aargh –
Just give up and just give in
To the temptation of The Doctor,
Two hearts and thirteen series;
To make the sofa my home
For the cold coming weeks,
Leave the screen in darkness
And scream in silence
Instead of dreaming
Of that degree.
The unbroken chain of myth:
Tap, tap, tapping along
To the chorus of your mind,
The perpetuating of the same old truth:
Toll, toll, the bell draws you close
To the chorus of their choice,
The silent grave no longer veiled:
With slothlike precision, a lifetime
Slowly spooning, always searching
For redemption, for the sacred seed
To the chorus of a cockroach’s deed.
I can talk like a turnip, let you know
I know things: a scholar
By cheap paper and cheaper ink;
Let you know I love you: 我爱呢
And then leave you frozen still
At the altar of ultimate promises;
I can talk like a turnip, spread wide
My final uttering like the cheap lard
You wasted, smeared wafer thin;
I can talk like a turnip, but would it
Change a thing.
One year I unsaw my face:
No face, no mirrors
For the best of a winter’s season,
With Christmas come and gone
I let the new year slowly pass
Until one grey misty morning
I found courage hanging low
And so I took
And so I pilfered
The truth from the horned beast
That was my image.
One year I unsaw my face:
In no mirrors,
For far too long,
In cracked mirrors
I saw another’s,
No face to call my own,
No place to hide the hidden
Truth of a lost self:
White-bearded,
Aged,
Faceless
Fool
In starlight cold and blue behold her face,
Beside her two of guarding dogs do rest,
Of Titan birth she brings prosperity,
No wonder they built many lasting shrines,
In Thrace the worship of her grace unbound,
Her golden key to open all closed doors
That hides a smile by magic mother moon,
But can she help Demeter’s offspring find,
Our Hecate across the Styx set sail,
To search until Persephone was found;
A triple goddess at our point in time.
He chose the Path of the Huntress,
A Jack with a Sleeve of Hearts,
In search for an Afterlife
Beyond her crumbling Cove;
In search for a missing Half
Deep in the Shadowlands.
He chose the Path of the Huntress,
A Jack without his Jill,
Beyond the Light the Stories withered
As silence fell and voices faded.
He chose the Path of the Huntress,
A Jack – without a Jill.
Dual moon madness: I embraced love only to find her dead; death became an answer never sought yet always portrayed: pray, be ready for the lady in red, be ready for the narrow path, for the door without handle, for the faceless keyhole; hollow dreams kept me afloat, awake and aware of the coming tide, of the residual madness, of the missing I in what became the final stand; tender and tethered I left love behind, her madness moved mountains but not my mine; my mind set on moving beyond, to go where the wee lady spoke of seas without end, of a golden shore to set me free, and of an escape from her delusions of a me.
