out from in the mist
Psalm 139
kriyamana
does a poet's karma
escape since the words are conscious
each space deliberate
is that why tears flow so easily or laughs come so true
once written life emerges
where none was: it all flows so calmly
each correction, each movement of the fingers
the back spaces the going forward. it is all karma
undisputable incoherent unimaginable karma of life
outstretched throughout this abyss
*******
non-compliance
hour glass
chosen by someone: a tiny blurb of birth - death
y as a function of x
homeomorphism
pursuit
if all is a simulation then why does everyone
not look like me. why does everyone appear
like a glow of what life is suppose to be - who
designs my simulation? who decides the flavors
the sights, the sounds, the very creations of those
who walk besides me. the broom used to sweep
the food i am given. if it is all a simulation I
would pick such different sounds, a song to fill
my soul, people who resembled me - even care
to stop and pick up litter. there, there is proof
there is a God - because only a God would drop
us in to simmer, maybe even boil until we awoke
realizing there is no simulation: just recurring events
read off a card
trivia
to ash
生き甲斐 : Ikigai
paradoxical sleep
18 minutes before sunset
transduction
in a small corner of a large structure
i sat: was confronted with such truth
two hands that never touched: to let go
it was time to let go. he thought he said
such a small thing. an easy left. made right
a tree here, a leaf there. a red bird over near
the window: what a turn of events. it takes
time for the echo to disseminate through out
the body. a fall. a winter. a spring. a summer
a life made by the verbalization of unbeknown
honesty
I'm still holding on: Luther Barnes