Poetry

Writing what I’m seeing,


On behalf of disbelief,


What I do see, I see,


What I meantosay, I jumble,


Words scrabbled into their alphabetical soup,


It’s all broth, no noodles,


And those feelings attached,


(Oh how needy those
pesky feelings).


Are all narrowed


down


to
its conversational bone marrow.





So What I meant to say,


I’ll engage now.


That there are black holes in-between all living
things,


To which all light bends around the spaces they stole
between us,


(And this universe has plenty
of light to go around),


And every so often, as I was often told,


Brief flashes of beauty, leak through these,


Grids of space/time.








Ring


around this


rosy.


MADE
IN VOID





Oh yes, with great delight in his heart,


No doubt the devil remembers,


With a dismembering grin,


Those unsettled ripples,


Expanding on the surface of the mind,


Soon will turn tides into whirlpool’d un-certainty


And
the world rushes by,


As
if our physical selves are city transit buses,


With
all of the mind stuck on the inside,


Looking
out at the present,


With
the slight dips in broken concrete


AND


With the gentle tug of
the engine


----SPEED
35---