she said,
today, i’ll drown in
the well of self-adoration.

i said,
oh, how jealous
narcissus will be!



how to make sense
of this viscous confusion?

it clings
ever so persistently.


we speak in words
this time around.

so many utterances
awaiting recognition.

so much…

and metaphor.
and metaphor, once more.

your words,
and the candor of them.


is that my candor
we speak?

and then again,
who’s speaking, anyway?

and then again,
who’s not?

answer the questions,
will you?

life is burning.




a compass quivers between my fingers.
i stand outside, bare feet
on damp grass.

there is a mauve temper
to the plummeting darkness.

i lay the compass down and write.

my pen scratches away,
endearing itself to the paper.
the ink flows with brazen license.

somewhere, a clock ticks.

not here.

this moment is a labyrinth.
it makes no apologies for
its self-containment.

the words spent,
my pen rests… satisfied.
 but, my spirit craves for knowledge.
what flaming spirit does not crave
for one curiosity or the other?
tell me...

earlier today, i sat outside and read
phenomenology of perception—and oh,
how my body kindled with knowing in the
bonfire of maurice merleau-ponty’s words!

when the house window most distant from me beckoned,
i shut my eyes and pressed my ear against it—in
my imagination—as if a new reality might
open up and seize me... as if.

the smoky clouds gathered on the horizon.

they gather, still…
inside the mauve temper.
inside the imminent chill.

the compass jerks into stillness
at my feet.

my pen weeps.



another mindful serendipity...

sidewalk chalk
on a neighbor’s driveway
hopscotch in neon and glitter
younger september mornings evoked
oh, the nostalgic diligence of reminiscence!