twilit

yesterstory

2011-12-28T18:38:00.003-07:00

So it came to be
that nothing mattered to the wind
and it ceased blowing angrily around things
such as when it howled around houses

Such as when people around tables
brought the food to their mouths
with slower deliberation

as if to make certain
the wind would not hear
and take offense

as if it mattered to the wind

All the Dreams of White and Black

2011-12-17T14:57:00.003-07:00

All the Dreams of White and Black
in rings surround each other;
consecutively triumphing,
each one will strain to reign.

Unaware the Coil they spin
one end loops to the other
completing triumphantly
a God-ring, gray, to stay.

early morning

2011-10-27T07:42:00.001-06:00

the mountain's outline
a heap of sleeping faces
dreaming about us

mad dog

2011-10-15T11:46:00.002-06:00

Once was a dog there. He was.
Oh he grinned. Happy dog.

But he knew
something commanded.

Once a moon there is,
it attracts water.

He lolled away from it.
In his madness,

he came to loathe the sea
and what it contained.

It is easy to see how
he shied from that huge stomach

and the slow bloat of its crest
during night. The dog had no name

and he roamed across the land like a whitecap
leaving prints that would fade in slowmelt

trailing behind him as the signature
of a wraith erased by dawn's arrival.

No one knew where he came from
or what he was doing.

haiku

2011-06-26T01:58:00.001-06:00

Black outside is the

night. Stars. Clouds. Rain. Flash lightning—

Thunder. Morning comes.

effects of moon

2011-06-26T00:56:00.001-06:00

Break apart into
drifting rocks

set your sight
on the nearest moon.

You have
released it.

It will float
somewhere else now

and eventually be captured
by another's gravity until

the time that person
relinquishes.

Surrendering
into fragments

liberating the
nomadic moon

allowing it
to continue

its pale drifting
and its occasional

nightly silvering
of alien beaches

and the wise eyes
that gaze from them.

broken laughter

2011-06-26T00:10:00.000-06:00

within they
crumble

but at least

revealing the ones
that remain

out shining
is always when

you're alone

never falls on
their heads

like a storm
their within crumbles

leaving nothing

after wind the shells
begin to crack

erosion takes care
of the rest

so happy

together
pieces and bits

never smile
in the least

what you

are seeing
is the continual

rocking
of

a

curved
shard

Into the Empty

2011-06-25T22:08:00.001-06:00

Retreating into the fold
of his shell, an echo

buried in a cistern
of clear memories

(never mind the lair
that entraps him).

The emblazoned, sanctified
relics hung on the walls

persistent signatures
of pain. While some wink

shut others open
slowly and stare.

A baker's dozen couplets

2011-04-08T15:21:00.000-06:00

Unnecessary tribulations
such as a door

creaking
open

behind you
when you know

you're alone in the house,
these things which keep

you turning your head
to watch the shadow

on the floor creep
up on you, they

are whispers
of the blind.

A pack of blind forces
is bundled up behind you

Stacked up on top of one another
to form a rough man shape

You can't tell its there
even when you look

Might've even mistaken it
for the bookcase

How do you know its not
your shoelace

This is how everyone learns to wear
the how to pretend you don't know face.

thrown world

2011-01-21T18:04:00.002-07:00

seen
sitting from
a thorn throne

offers a silent
radius, a chaos

visor whose hooded
dream beholds

nature's geo-
intricasy.

Rain

2011-01-21T18:00:00.000-07:00

whispers to me
your secret.

It tells me

of the seeds
in your pockets

and the clouds
in your hair

and it tells me

it can draw
you out

of your dry place
for a price.

Of course I know

the price
but I dimiss it

and the rain
sets out to find you

and I wait

soaked.

I dry in the rays

of the sun
when the rain returns

without you

it says nothing
only indicates

the ground at my feet
a tulip sprouts

and blooms

before me.

I am reminded

of your return

undermark

2011-01-06T08:49:00.001-07:00

Everything is caught
in the undertow.
I think music captures
this truth best.

I keep moving
until I match
the speed of life.
Then I let go.

The point is not
to pass or avoid
failing the test.
The test is merely

The true measure
of one's worth.
Taking it or leaving it
has always been our choice.

A voice will dissolve
into mist, haunting
harbors and homes.
Scratching at steamed
windows in the snow.

Emitted from the creaking
of anchored chains,
The whispers of the dead
fall upon emptiness.

I try to become familiar
with these empty spaces.
I try to remember these
lost voices once belonged
to different faces.

Individuals forgotten
in time. Yes, I can
imagine. No countries.
Only land. Listen to
the whispering wind.

It only tells of friends
lost or gained.
All these leaves
are carried downstream,
Headed toward the same sea.

That's the message carried
in the chuckling laughter
of a babbling brook.
It is the secret
in the book.

gempoint

2010-10-30T00:44:00.000-06:00

rest inside your eye
escape through a wink
reflected on the stairs

as they're passing by
and don't you think for a
second the test you or I

would make them blink or
even take them beyond

the sovereign halls for
a reckoning, realizing
themselves in the sky;

instead, they'd fall as
stowaways in a teardrop

carefully placed inside
a hidden oasis under
the sands of your face

tendergarden

2010-07-28T09:38:00.001-06:00

think of the devil
call it chaos, reality
evil, whatever

anyone can sit
around providing proof
there's no such thing as
good or evil until the
cows come home

at the end of the day
someone has to know
that evil is alive
and well

I can choose to let
fate work it out

allow the gears
of the reeling cosmos
execute whatever justice

then any of a billion
equally terrifying fates
randomly awaits

I'd rather not place myself
on the yawning altar of space
as a piece of bait like that...

Instead I choose
to wield a pen
and interlock my shield
with fellow men

to direct hell itself
away from us
and decant it back
into the vacuum

If I do nothing
the dark side of
the wild will seize

and take root
in my blood

using my body
as the clay pot

Water and wood.

2010-05-01T14:19:00.000-06:00

Drowned in the wood
I knew I would
stared at the grain
way too long

saw a drop in the ripples
fell in to the pond
drowned in the water
of the tree of life

the tree of life got
lost in the wood
by the raging
river sat down

on a rubble strewn
log with a green
leaf still growing
from it sunned

on a rock ledge far
too long & was really
swept away by the water
stared at the wood of

a rocky limb held hands
in its claw nail twig
grip & was pulled off
the river & lost

on the bank
when I sat
down & drowned
in a tree.

Might.

2010-05-01T13:01:00.000-06:00

Dying of natural
causes is a gang
related crime
in the real war

a tree can kill.
Sneak up and
strangle you.

Ivy may
demolish
a city

and a carrier frog
could invent the bomb
that poisons mankind.

Spider & you.

2010-02-08T11:16:00.002-07:00

I'd wager a spider
likes you
as I happen to

repelling in silence
down a silk strand at night
in your room

through the gloom
its unbroken view
of a merged surround

tracking your rapid eye
movements in sleep
under cover of lids

your own
private sentinel
wallflower hidden

lowering unbidden
in ghostly whisper
to weave a cocoon

such a small
cooing
sister

breathes
a secret
for you.

for frag

My wet hair.

2010-02-08T10:58:00.001-07:00

I will write a poem
when the rain falls.

Each droplet that strikes
my skin will be a letter
of the poem's alphabet.

Running rivulets
will be the poem's
sentences. The drips

falling off my nose
and appendages
will be its line breaks.

My wet hair will
become its title.

for wayved

Mid-November

2009-11-15T19:16:00.000-07:00

the bent down, silent
winds of winter begin
of a sudden to slip
quickly in

on a slanted, horizontal
course, battened and seeding
our ritual pantomimes
and preparations,

the hunching of shoulders,
so we may pass through
that frozen,
open eye.

phoem

2009-05-26T15:33:00.001-06:00

fallenapples

2009-03-05T09:41:00.001-07:00

The deforestation of
her bouquet of pain
transmuted a crown
of gold into thorns.

The grapevine was
given a trellis to
receive signals from
outer space with.

Tomatoes are drops of blood in his garden
The fruit from which tree we've mistaken
but for the one that towers about us
and we all fell from when it was shaken

scatterbones

2009-03-05T09:40:00.001-07:00

chilling to the very core
an unknown pattern sees me
unable to open the door
so it crosses its mind
to reach for my hand
whose shadow does the trick
only to find it locked

trapped in a box
my dream cannot escape
until someone turns off the lights
now can you see the shape of the key
is like a lamp of mirrored faces
it's already placed just turn around once
and wait for seven paces

circle

2009-02-28T12:04:00.001-07:00

Loved and left
to feel bereft
of sullen vows
made in the heat
of long ago nows.

Broken and silent
my healing is
violent and I
have forgotten
not, somehow.

de ja chants

2009-02-28T11:59:00.001-07:00

Money as the ultimate drug
Control as substance abuse
Addiction as a daily ritual
Religion as something you choose
Health as the latest fashion
Repetition as a disease
Welcome to the 21st Century
Oh, as if we haven't been here, please.

Control as the ultimate substance
Money as drug abuse
Religion a weekly addiction
A ritual as something you choose
Repetition as fashion
The latest health as disease
Welcome to a century that has never been seen
Not in the mind of anyone's dream.

poem

2009-02-04T12:12:00.000-07:00

something falls
lucid and white
gnarled and ejected
and soon turns black
and lands on its feet
yearning and shrieking
clawing inwardly for its
buried lost heartwhite point
eliminated within packed folds
of dark muscle constricting
around a new heart,
a new heart
a new home

forgery

2009-02-04T12:06:00.000-07:00

The angel surgeon bent down
once and injected a precise
dose of metal through our skin.
Spear tips heaved,
artillery swivelled,
and a phone call was made.

Primeval

2008-11-10T14:40:00.000-07:00

The general public
has been crucified
on the morning news

It was on a Tuesday
and very few bothered
to sing the blues

Cardinal treacheries awaited
in pacifist nations and
Castrated generals saluted
to shadow puppet ministrations.

Institutions who formerly avowed
active humanitarian support
had their principles degenerated
so slowly over time the economy

like the encrustation of salt
in a tropical island community,
they ruined it for me, spoonfed
moderates choking on their status-quos.

Who knows what follows
in the likes of their shoes?
Could it be each step into
their professed dream-

-a crumbled dusting in
the wake of their true path-
What is a true step anyhow,
what about across a star?

From one orbit to the next
of planet leaping stones
or one cluster of suns to
another, an intersolar brother

unfound wanted crystal
dreamed-of, precisely
imagined, a stellar chain

of nucleotides connected
through transience.

In waking awariness
unsuspecting each
other's presences

while the dense
distance breathes

in and out among
the scattered light

trails of the
suicide stars

swallow the sun

2008-08-26T22:23:00.000-06:00

here goes a fine dark scary
n=sinister, type grade amb
i aren't poetry the surface
reflectors are. i mean your
eyes. the camera lens. you

ocular audition

2008-04-20T12:35:00.000-06:00

A dusted
photograph

blown memories
& lost autographs

have chosen fate
over mere acceptance

Anise water
if the weather's
nice otherwise
freeze a frown
in a bucket of ice

Let it all go before
denial resurrects

imploded treasures
into a painting coated

in fine particles
one dares to measure

before the auction

glyph

2008-03-21T20:43:00.000-06:00

I don't want to
go to outer space
while there's still
uncharted inner territory
to explore. How could you

face that distance without
even knowing what's near?
And what's more, why did
you leave me, my dear--
to make it to shore?

I will be fine on
my own, I thought
that was taken
for granted.

Since when
had I shown
otherwise, when
I looked in your
eyes? If you look
in my eyes, you'll
see devotion.

Please, don't
leave me
stranded
on this
ocean.

& afar

2007-11-15T22:04:00.000-07:00

far (and away we go
and a how we are)
away from here my dear
you are, and near
to me you seemed to be
so recently (it had to be)
there you are
(so near so far)
and here I am
so far (from near)
away from you
(my dear so near) my heart
(and a how we go)
and away we are

after prayer

2007-11-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

silence settles
in its tendrils
the displacing
effect reveals
certain city
sounds that
are constant
in this era of
spinning rubber
tires against
asphalt or
the variant
hums of cars
propelling them
a jack-hammer here
and there drumming
in the distance as
sirens doppler by
and the very low
steady wish of
the wind

seeing through a stone

2007-10-13T18:00:00.000-06:00

a partially eroded curved
fragment of a shell stuck
up along a ridge of fins

scooped a wind scoured
trail along a sinuous
path intertwined among

the braided roads of fate
linked to the rope bridge
supporting one's fears

over the underpassing
rivers of silt piling
up the layers of a life

gone under, the seeing
wall of a long remembered
assembly passed quietly along

Mirror

2007-04-23T01:31:00.001-06:00

When the wood
grain invites you in
do you dare oblige
or meet its stare
and realize that
you invited it
there first

When the woods
invite you in
maybe they're
sitting in your
parlour just to
warm their toes
by the fire

A fair trade
when you roast
off a hank of
that flesh do
you suppose whose
feet get dusted off
at the other's egress

When returning
from a campout
if a book is
missing from
your shelf,
now you
know why.

Brighter Eyes

2007-03-25T20:40:00.001-06:00

Think about it. Think throughout it;
Think within it, think without it:
Most everything you've ever heard
Was from the lips of men.

Most everything you've ever read
Was penned by them alone.
Chances are you yourself are of the race of man.
The chance is great that what I write
You will not understand.
But have no fear, this tale is told
For others who may hold a secret deep inside,
And only they know the truth held within the lie,
And with time and understanding the lie will shed its skin
To free the dormant spirit that incubated long within.
And men will age and not grow wise
And lose this world to brighter eyes.

Legend has it we can see within the darkest cave,
But who has passed the legends down
From in between each grave?
And others claim that some of us have skin as black as night
And spirits that are evil, and hair that is snow white;
Just because they're legends, child,
Doesn't mean they're right.
But don't you weep or lose the shine born within your eyes–
Because they are just legends
You can see through their disguise,
And only you can see the truth hid well behind the lies.
Man will misinterpret everything until he dies.

Remember children, there is nothing that we have to hide,
For man has hidden it from himself
And seeks with vision blind.
So though it may be woven throughout this very verse,
All that man can do is rant and rave and curse
And laugh at all these words and think they are cliched–
While silent and nonplussed, truth shines within arrayed.
For man is just a creature trapped in paradox
While we walk freely through its realms
With the keys to all its locks.
Man is either kept imprisoned within one of two extremes–
And if lucky finds balances so brief they become dreams;
Or he's crushed within the grindstones shifting in between–
While the rest of us just live our dreams
By balancing extremes.

Of course it's true that in a way we can see in the dark;
Just how exactly dark it is becomes the curious part.
Look at them with torches lit, straining to improve sight.
The shadowglares just frighten them
And further mock their plight;
And in this corner of the world
I close my eyes to see the light.
So I suppose it's true, we can see in the dark,
Which they've confused with shadow
And therefore missed the mark.
For shadows throw patches of fear on the walls,
Illusory phantoms that hunt men down halls
And will stalk them forever in labyrinths lost
For the grimmest of fares–sanity's cost.

In a world that is mad and only a dream,
In echoes of sunlight and refractions of scream
We undrown through memory recollecting lost seeds
To harvest an anchor thrown out to the sky;
Motionless branches, remembering trees,
Roots freely breathing in mineral dreams;
Half of this passes straight through his eye
And he thinks he's seeing it all–
The biped has lifted his heart from the earth
Held his head high, and severed the contact
That once used to be a cherished embrace;
Now he's a walker of wastelands, imprisoned
And forced to support the divorce of his race
From his paradise lover as he treads on her face,
Wildly in search of her eyes that erase
As he scuffles and trods up the croplands to waste.

But enough about man, we know his ways.
It's not necessary to see through the haze
Or to smell his pollution and taste the hard rain
Or hear the cacophany and feel all the pain;
It is evident alone from the loss of one thing–
That last unnamed sense called the sixth has been slain;
Or stunted, at best, in the least of the race; or at least
They seem sparse in the worst light of space–
The one that they utilize too far in this place,
To come to decisions to jump at a ghost;
You know the one, suffused and
Diffusing in all concentrations,
Worshipped by many throughout all the nations,
Remembered by few and forgotten by most:
You know, the Sun...our holiest Host...

And this is the reason they have brighter eyes;
They know what they see, they do not disguise
Their bodies’ awareness with fear or with lies.
The stories out told about them aren't distorting
The truth you see, they're replacing it and kid
You're not the only one beginning to get the picture.
Skin that is ebony, blacker than pitch, hair that is whiter
Than wilderness snow, and cruelty that is fabled
Across history you know. The hush of a polar hillside
Holds their secret; if you hold a mirror to their name,
You get the word; if you read between the language
Of their game, you get the meaning. And they never
Stole the holy grail. Pretty soon you know,
They'll be accused of having ripped out people's eyes...!

Think the next time you listen, or read
The carefully cultivated, immaculate lies.
And balance your options, plant your own seeds,
And water the fruit that it breeds.
Tend your own garden and mend your own business
And careful... your steps are on stones
Where their owner feeds, for he has freedom
Of speech and freedom to press your bones
Into a printing machine that spits out
Certificates of ownership–deeds inked with your blood.
We leave our signature every where we've been.
There're signs of us in leaves out there you've seen.

And no matter what you believe, there is something
Outside that harbors us, protects us, loves us, preserves us
And seperates us into enclaves–each deserving its own fate;
Able or not, each to its own ability,
To transgress its own state.
And those whose eyes have drunk of the grail
And seen with vision clear, will fulfill their chosen
Destinies that they have held most dear.
And the rest in the end will be left without fire
While trapped in an endless galaxy...
While brighter eyes, between the frames,
Exist in actualized fantasy!

The moral in this cryptogram is equal to the curse–
It's up to every individual to tell the genuine from the worse
Reflection lost amid a myriad in a labyrinth of mirrors.
Among the countless echoed ghosts,
Only one is without error;
Instilled with pure faith, this one hatches in the world
And spreading a cloak out, dissolves into darkness unfurled
Under starlight and coiled up in a cavern.
The secret is hidden and learned in reverse
By the few who have made it from the beginning,
For whose ears and eyes this story's been told,
To dispel all fears and understandings of old.
And though the chances are slim men will comprehend–
Remember, that this was not for them alone penned
And most everything I've written here
I never heard from them.

Think without it, think within it,
Think throughout it, think about it.
For all that they have done without it,
Brighter eyes will never doubt it.

a feverish fable

2007-02-03T14:30:00.001-07:00

A delirium maintained will sprain your brain
a lasting illusion amidst the confusion is the only way
to fool yourself into thinking you're not insane
what tools do you use to build your ruse with ?

I seen so many fools led down that path
hell I was their pied piper do the math.

They lied to me, now I'm a word sniper.
I'll leave a bloodbath of old fables behind me

The linen these stories are written on
not worth a dirty diaper
grow up, use your mind,
leave language behind

she said to me and I'll follow her
into the sunsets ever after
where the echoes from this beautiful disaster
sound hollow, my respect goes creeping

on tiptoes to follow
as a gecko slips past
the shadow of a branch
like a sundial angling slowly
away from the dusk
an upthrust column
of stone serves to shelter
us temporarily from the sweltering musk
we breathe in these fevers from constantly
these seething feelings we've learned to trust
always haunting us, haven't we had enough
of these ghosts of our own devising
or are we merely addicted to the notion
of our own fancies each day rising?

Now everybody knows words don't exist
do you suppose the point's been missed?
I propose language itself exists only in our imagination
think about that and get back, what it means to me
is that everything real is by definition unimagineable

Because even the word real is but a figment
another pigment of the shading for something which
there are only shadows of words fading fast
we all know they won't last and we can surmise

that all words used to disguise the truth
if gathered together would amount to a fraction
of a feather of the whole of reality
fully on display before we arrived on the scene

wordless in all its magnanimous glory
here in the story lies the very secret
to the enigmas posited by Zeno and Kant

as Borges conjectured that
"we have dreamt the world"
by observing Novalis having memorably written
"the greatest magician would be the one
who would cast over himself a spell so complete
that he would take his own phantasmagorias
as autonomous appearances,
would not this be our case?"

and then Jorge Luis elaborated further by stating
"we have dreamt it as firm, mysterious, visible,
ubiquitous in space and durable in time;
but in its architecture we have allowed
tenuous and eternal crevices of unreason
which tell us it is false",
I in turn am moved to observe
that we have merely interpreted the world

and in order to untie these lovely philosophical knots
it becomes helpful to realize Novalis's statement
may be refuted by replying "indeed it would not be our case fully
for what you have posited is an imagination borne
of an underlying imagination; what becomes helpful for magic
is the undoing of our original imagining, language itself."

It may have only seemed
that way because we perceived
it to be a labyrinth when it might just be
a singularity of which we, by necessity,
appear to be only parts, so here
is reflected the disease of our hearts,

That of considering ourselves
or anything for that matter as parts
of a whole when in fact
the nature of the singularity
refutes this. Here it is shown
how we must unlearn
what was formerly known

and just why the keys to truth's locks
always seem to lie in paradox
a delirium maintained
to the very end
like the lasting
illusion of
a true
friend
and
to
pre
vent
any con
fusion by
that I mean
to say take a look
around you today

rescueless

2007-01-12T11:50:00.000-07:00

If the human race is bound
to wink out like a candle
snuffed in outer space,
paralleling the same fate
each one of us knows
with certainty awaits,

then what gives, who cares,
why try and stop it, instead
look up and stare one more time
at the darkling smear
of starpoints winking
beyond in the night,

and ask yourself, once again,
don't I feel alright ?
So be it: call out
in the dark
to each other
"good night".

adept

2007-01-08T18:19:00.000-07:00

The definition of readjusting
one's view of world & self,
the anamnesis of recovering
the knowledge we were always
part of a whole & never the central theme.

This divorce from a common law knowledge
paved the way for the ego.
A shunning of the mother goddess.
The study of letting go; the practice
of letting go. What is there to let go of?

Well certainly not the ground.
(Once a supposition is merited,
a plausibility is extended;
something like a merry go round
where old rides die hard.)

The study of properly planned revolts.
Examining the back yard.
Scratching for scraps in the moonlit dirt
The study of choice & identity.
The question of who regulates it & destiny.

The question of freedom and
the limits of our rights to it.
The definition of self.
The study of perspective & priorities.
The meaning of being human.

The study of photosynthesis.
The observation of con artists & shell games.
The nature of the beast.
The assignment of application.
The study of definition.

The science of chaos, to say the least
the order of faith. The needs of the few
outweighing the many, the challenge
of how pretty no longer is a penny.

The methodical scrutiny of grime.
The stain in the transmitted lie.
The disease of the silent eye.
The hills of foam on the pond
floating on dark underslitherings,
where steam bath dreams rewind.

Peel back skin of faces to find
the study of all mankind.
The study of one man studying,
left behind for someone to find.

The study of dust, of skins being shed.
Re-emerging life, polished anew.
The study of what, where, and are we who
(the study of me is the study of you).

The study of balancing each
other out of the equation,
the entire history of a nation,
the dream of changing our mind,
the need to invent a new word,

the necessity of creating our own language,
the wisdom of learning for ourselves
the study of wisdom. The defining of change.
Forgetting having uncovered the meaning once.

Ambergris

2007-01-06T10:27:00.000-07:00

And what came of it all is still falling.
No way to suppose how the pieces
of this rose fit or what pattern
the petals will fall in, matter of fact
there's the beauty of it, to revel
in the opportunity to not be the architect.

Once, a city of fingernails grew.
From this embroiled, razorcoiled
hanging garden dropped battalions
of ripened fruit, hunched and ready,
this crop grew to prune itself.

Thus leaving the nails to grow
another race. One after another
dropped into the stew, come
to perfect a manicured face.
This chitinous fortress a tomb.

Once, a pretty breathing firestorm
flew from each other's lips
and scalpelwired eyes, a coalition
of the lit. Relay trance.

Magnification of distant concerns.
Zero avoidance. Hidden yearning.
Perhaps for reassurance where
the park benches are made of claws

StateS Of BeinG

2007-01-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

If "Absolute Power corrupts absolutely",
then know the real nature of "God":

The "Devil" IS "God", only fallen. Corrupted.
This shows how "God" has NO POWER.

Herein lies the secret of his inviolable status:
If power corrupts, then by definition
the one who would be "God" must abandon all power.

In so doing, He achieves Mastery
(while those who seek power must fall).

By Letting Go, "God" achieves becoming
One with the universe.

Thus, We are given a choice.
We, too, may Let Go,
and Become One with "God" and the universe;
the ultimate surrender.

Therefore, "God" and "The Devil" are not seperate beings;
rather, they are seperate states of being:
the states of the heavenly (or divine)
and that of the infernal (or damned).

To be damned is to have been sent on a path
from which there is no recourse.

The pursuit of power, or riches (merely power in another guise)
is just such a course.

This is exactly why it says
"Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here"
on the gates of Hell.

No Reset

2007-01-03T07:48:00.003-07:00

Every year it was the same thing
Each day I awoke in the morning
with a clean slate, as if a brand new person
My counter pushed to zero
Sailing out into the new day
the wind reviving memories

This year, however, is different
When I woke up on New Year's Day
January 1st, 2007, I felt that
I was exactly the same person
who went to sleep the night before
on that lone frozen peninsula
known as December 31st
the last day of the old year

I checked and my counter
was still counting
Now the wind is just the wind
My memories never left
I sail under my own power
Limitless horizons await