the inanity (part 2)


and for every peephole
there should be a finger on the other side.

and for every finger there should be
a celestial arch to poke through to reach out to God.

and God wants the crying heart.

and for the carnal labyrinth of the heart
there should be always a wandering soul roaming inside.

and for the wandering soul there should a hope, —
yet the hope should be lost.

and for the dismal, there is an eternal fire
of the burning bush, only for those who’s paying attention.

and for those who wants to see, there should be
a peephole to look.

and a handkerchief in the pocket should be ready,
to wipe the tears.

and for the tears, there is a rust

and for the rust, there is no time.

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God is always one and He is obsolete; we’re always looking for someone, to be somehow complete.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

Saturday night musings

they are walking the streets
of the Big City
following the marching band,
a group of monks wrapped in
the glitter fabric,
and a woman with the two king poodles on the leash.

they are looking for a new definition of an Ontological Argument.

(there is no new, I know)

I am drinking wine and looking into the fire.

waiting for my additional soul to depart
from my body.

(three, two, one, zero. lift off)

soon she will come and take me to the
movie theater.