This Juvenile World 


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I’m haunted in November again
In corridors of time’s fleeting
To be a ghost oneself, to oneself
In the lonesome places
Where age meets security

To be shut up in verse
Like an artist tied and captive
To the abolishment of normalcy
The lives others lead, I’ve been
Placed inside a closet of make-believe

And when I show my head
To the world, I feel absurd
Or else, the world appears absurd to me
But what if I abolished creativity
In separate drawers, art has a smaller possession

Than it once did in dreary youth
But I’m still Nobody, Who have you become?
We’re not a pair of invisible, we’re separated
By digital noise, channels as juvenile
As the potential of a word, the possibility of a voice
There’s nothing the world has,
That I want anymore, it’s a con and a game
With every blossom and on every bush
My route to evanescence is a Saturday hush.

Musts, Shoulds and Could’vebeens


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The solemn years have ended
In bliss of holidays extended
And parting with the world
Still unfair, with but a hope to dream

With tolling bell and taxes taken
It’s time for death, and nothing less
The centuries have not smiled like this
Since 1956, or else

Good news can be the common way
Our bones and teeth still have decayed
Time was not differ than what it is
You say that’s just life, I must have heard wrong

How heaven could be so sad?
And life so bottomless a well
Of mystery and anonymously clad
What’s on its way is going and gone

Time for eternity, never enough….
There are no “complete poems”
Only preferments and stations
That must dissolve, this purple state

Into a balance of modest clay and ash
The unblushing end is upon us here
So stay a while majesty and regret
That we might have loved, a little bit more

The sad world in her corrupt gown
With all the same stories and fallen angels like
The soldier, peasant, monk and squirrel:
We are just weary creatures here
Awareness of the end, is the beginning of the end.