a disposition blues #2

A quintessential cello
a subatomic blues is disintegrating
from its body.

His fingers,
touching primal strings,
causing the time to change its direction.

He is creating worlds,
while I am enjoying his music;
with my meaty ears and
exhausted psyche.


a poet #2

I was thinking about God,
and how He creates this world
using letters and the infinite light;
black light on a white.

what about myself,
not a poet, just trying to write;
black letters on white.

sometimes I feel lonely when I write,
or maybe I write because I feel lonely?

(I know it is only a feeling)

God is always one and He is obsolete; we’re always looking for someone, to be somehow complete.

my father says, any artists are lonely in the world they create.