My All in Your Nothing.

I saw a boy
riding his bike,

a cigarette hanging
from his cold wet lips,
as the rain came
shattering down,
and the black
shimmer of asphalt
shot up.
The street accepted
the boy as he was.
'Those things will kill you,'
he imagined hearing.
'What won't?'
he replied to no one.
Sometimes, I think that boy is me.

Time's Folly.

Entering time, one must take care.
I slip into natural chronology,
at risk of believing what I see.
People and things wash through me,
very little sticks to my bones,
even less to my soul.
Ideas draw me in, take hold,
rearrange my mind,
befuddle my soul's oeuvre,
and my bones weakened, rattle in dusty halls.
All this draws me through a fog,
to the edge of a cave,
looking out to nothing.
Fortunately, I sleep.
As I disconnect from time,
entering the anti-conscious and the metanatural,
those distressing worldly features are decompressed,
and can now slide into my psyche as they are,
denizens of my mind, objects of understanding
and not of time and matter.
Here my seeking roves freely,
culture, natural law, my own meaty shell
are anathema in time,
dragging down my seeking mind,
but here I move and think without walls.
In the moment, the clearness is incomparable.
But as I wake and enter time,
it clouds and fades, and the moment
becomes a dream, and I fall into it all
as the Myth becomes a moment.

A falling buckle

The brass coat buckle severed, drops
dangled as it was
dying slowly, drifting down
as its purpose does

Colliding through with rushing air
artful as it turns
time is slowed, seconds arrayed
as wholeness frail adjourns

And now the clasp splays falling light
last eulogy speaks Sun
the buckle's dead, the coat is lost
the grimmest struggle won.