Become Endless: A Poem


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click image for credit

It is the end of breath,
–––the end
––––––—-.of death.
The convergence of a million small coincedences
–––––(rather large)
strumming and humming, pounding
––––––––and flashing, a million images in a million colors;
––––––––we are become the universe:
A starship, a warship; a star, a war.
––Light us on fire and come.
Come where the strobes are in our souls
––––––––-.the words in your chest, our chest,
–––––––––––where breath ends,
––––––––––––––––––––––––and death ends,
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––-–––but we
––––––––become endless.

Dance in the moonlight, the starlight, and sunlight;
–––and the light of your eyes, of your fingertips;
––––––the light of your lips;
–––––––––the light of a million things
––––––––––––––––––––––––––—(rather large)
–––––––the light of the sound and
–––––––––––––––––––––––––become endless.

Become endless
–––––––––––on your arms and your thighs:
–––Become endless in the song and
–––––Lose yourself
––––––––––––––-in your own infinity

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Snowy Ramblings, 2 am


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click for image credit

Cerberus is
the trio of lamps in the yard across the street

everything is so still
how can the world look so silent when i am so disquieted how
can the wind stop breathing

there are three heads of light
and even through the curtain they burn me

it’s peculiar how snow folds in dunes
like an alien planet on my driveway

the monster keeps glowing
and with thrice the force it cannot be extinguished

and i wonder why

why does anyone feel the need to slit their wrists
and how dare the world be so cruel to them that they think they must

and why does anyone need
so many lamps

it’s 2 am and my heart
is beating so hard i cannot sleep

The Ghost and the Spirit: A Poem


You are not the ghost standing
in mirrors in yellow-lit bathrooms
You are not the ghost materializing
in and out of this goddamn world
You are not the ghost holding breath
at the end of a razor
that ghost does not define you

You are the Spirit in white dancing
with sunflowers in the sunlight
You are the spirit reflected
(that others hope to reflect)
You are the spirit walking
with confident stride

You have known Sadness and
your relationship may be as intimate as ever but

the fact that you came into this world
crying
does not make your birth any less of a miracle

You are not a ghost

You are a Spirit

and the Sadness was never your creator

The All-Consuming Black Hole: A Short Story


1.13743-C0141244-Black_hole_artwork-SPL-1

Dan is at the foot of my bed. “I know you’re asleep, Ellen,” he says. “But I’ve got to talk to someone.”

I am not asleep. As a matter of fact, I am too lost in dreams to even consider sleeping. Lost in dreams. And there is Dan, at the foot of my bed.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he says. “And not just about anything.” He sighs, like someone who is disoriented in a vacuum. “I’ve been thinking about death. I do that a lot. It’s kind of a problem.

“The thing is,” he continues, “I’m terrified of what’s coming. Because I don’t know. I just don’t know. Nobody really knows. And that’s the issue.” The bed shifts as he readjusts his position. “And what does anything mean, really, if we’re all going to die anyway? Is it worth the effort?”

Still pretending, of course, to be asleep, I shuffle my elbow.

“And damn, Ellen, I’m so scared. I’ve always been scared.” His breathing is damp, muffled; he’s crying. “Everything is terrifying. And apparently pointless.” He chuckles at himself, in the forced way the damned laugh at their fate. “And I’m sorry to be bothering you, even though you’re sleeping. I’ve just been thinking too much.”

At this point, he begins sobbing––big, agonizing sobs. The bed shakes, but it’s like rocking; had I truly been asleep, it would have comforted my dreams before it woke me. I get up and hold him from behind, my head on his shoulder, and I whisper in his ear. “Dan,” I say, “Dan, I don’t know either. Dammit, Dan, no one knows. But death isn’t the all-consuming black hole. That’s life. You know it as well as I do.”

He pauses, his tears suspended with his breath, the whole room hovering for the moment. “You don’t know, either?” he murmurs. “You don’t know what life is? or death?”

I shake my head into his. “There’s no way to know.”

“Then what does it matter, Ellen?”

“It matters because I love you.”

He smiles; I know because I can feel his cheek. That’s the only way to know. The only light in the room leaks from the door, and, for the time being, neither of us is leaving. It’s dark here, at the foot of my bed. We can only know from touch, from contact.

“Then I guess it matters because I love you, too.”

I brush his short hair from his ear, and I’m crying alongside him, and neither of us understands anything.