sequins glimmering off the coast
in the moonlight
on crests of waves

crashing into shores,
breaking as a tide
against the sand.

i once asked you to carry me away
into that fantastical sparkle,
but you broke me in that foam
and washed me into the sand.

i love you for what i am not.
i would die for your eternity.

time, you slide
like sand through my fingers
and disappear

into the wind
that chaps and ages
my face.

we’ll meet again
some day

to discuss our differences.
tell me,

how is oblivion this time of year?

when i was younger
snow would fall from everywhere
thursday looks like rain

as we lose ourselves
in the synaptic crevices
between human logic and reality,
we stretch our imaginations further.
the gaps then widen
and sanity is the first victim

of our attempt to understand.
it’s okay.

let us fill the gaps
with superstitions and basal concepts
of morality to create a sense of purpose.

gaps filled with empty rituals,
ethical elitists piously pontificating
self-righteous parables and life lessons,
and pages of verse posing as a safety net
that will cradle your fall
and smother your sobbing body.

we’ve created hell
and with our fear of ignorance
we have remained
willfully ignorant.

as the net rocks you to sleep
i will mourn the moment it ends this sweet dream
and i awake into nothingness.

a seed rolling into a crack
sits alone – discarded and forgotten -
but left only with this exclusion,
it integrates its lonely surroundings,
barren and profane, into its being.

and it offers what it has
to the nothingness
which it is nearly overwhelmed by

taking root, making a resignation
in realizing that it is not wanted anywhere,
so it evolves nowhere
branching out and filling the cracks
of nothingness, accenting them
with its own profanity.

and we curse this development
that we have enabled
through our own neglect
as it attempts to poison
the conventional beauty of men

who do not realize
that we will all be overcome
by this evolved nothingness
and it will swallow us whole
creating a beautifully ugly hybrid.

a ghost town overcome by weeds
and rust,
a mass grave covered with the rubble
of once-great cities,
a baby’s crib filled with the smell
of sour, yellowed blankets
howling of the past that gets tortured
by the impending future

which brings an end
to the life that is loved,
growing before us in stages,
crawling

to the future that begins
with the seed in the crack
(dejected, forgotten)

and resurrects itself triumphantly
as a relic that will not be subdued,
reduced to a tainted copper
by the self-interest of a humanity
that discards its worth.

our words would touch our ears like soft whispers that tickle the side of your head.
i used to like when i lost my mind like that,
but now these words make painful attempts at gouging out my eyes
and i’m sitting here with paint chips under my nails

wondering if all that is left of the past
is that stinging sensation in the tips of my fingers.

beauty must have the longevity of an autumn leaf
or the impact of a summer breeze.
such slight manifestations of irregularity
that you barely feel or rarely see,

but it is never permanent
and it is never the same.
that which holds beauty
will only last the day.

to understand why such things are
would only cause further madness.
some will never see it for what it is,
the few who live in ignorant bliss.

know the ledge
that kisses your heels
as you fall with faith
and leave with certainty

that your last embrace
will not be of compassion,
but truth.

the things that are abstract
keep us further
from what is real
and now only represent
what will never be.

so let us fall
into mediocrity,

because the only truth,
at this point,
lies in success.

even when that road leads
to failure,
we only care if a champion
is standing at the end of it.