Saturday, December 15, 2012


you can touch the grandeur,
the delicate grandeur,
but you have to leave it alone,

you have to lose your ideology,
save your cliches,
spare me your pitch,
take your own advice,

to be alone,
to live,
is to measure every moment,
how much to hold?
how much to give?
the work will never go away,
there is no escape,
no one can help you find an answer,

as the weight bears down,
there is a closeness foreign to me,
my mind twists and kicks,
my body bends and strains,

pipe dreams of youth,
lost in a second,
spiraling down into a swamp yard,
of crushed cars stacked in heaps of blood-coloured, rusted metal,

will we turn a corner?
how do we continue on?

there must be nothing,
for something to exist,

a fetus gently suspended in amniotic fluid, 

lamp light reflected in black puddles,

heart pumping on the outdoor rink,

there is grandeur,
you can touch it,
but only if you let it go.