I’m sick of silence.

It never moves.

Stagnant enterprise with unbreachable walls,

and now nothing...

Hopeless and fake, subtly screaming

for the core to stay in place.


Then a crash, a tumble, a tear, a break;

all noiseless constants of an inner world,

and terrestrial motions spin spirals

through endless corridors, finalizing

in a nine month marathon.

Silence has never sounded so smooth.

Leafless trees and a moon so full.

#6 Lyric

My words do me no justice,

a philosopher

with no knowledge

in his bed.



Inspired again?

Nothing new, my arc,

it’s missing.



Time to sleep.

My dreams percolate

lost entity of belief,

and the wind blows:

gravity’s arm lifting

me from the ground

placing me gently, back

on acid trails

amidst candy dried sound.


Patiently I wait

counting days like seconds.


- Oct 4, 2003

#24 - In February

 In February


Where is my plateau?

I can look down

yet still feel so far below.


glaring down at me,

through the visage of double paned glass.

The Romans had many victories

in downtown New York, or

so we are led to believe. 


Now holographic brick paneled

in two dimensions makes me feel

like part of a pop-up book,

and the weightless matter in the distance

makes the sky seem so far away.

So shine down pitiful Sun;

for air conditioning units serve no purpose

in February.


- February 2, 2004