Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

the sunday times 8.18.19

go there


at least once

morning, noon

and night


to keep the gears from grinding

to keep the fingers from slipping


somewhere out beyond the day

and all its doings

there is an elsewhere

that longs for presence


a place to feed the soul

and simply breathe.


in the wait


connection crossed

tension dismantled


appearing at ease

from the distance


telling time soon to approach


back from elsewhere

to common ground


toward the unknown possibility

of new endeavor.


hark and hollow


low in the darkness

beneath the heat


july ending like a fire in the night

three days up in flames


a new garden rumbles

from the guts of berlin


eons of thought

traced like headlights

across the ceiling


with someone, somewhere

to think about


and wonder

what comes next.


third in a trilogy


a while back

now it comes


a chance like a feather

descending to grace the abyss


attention at ease

despite tendencies to the contrary


the same different page

to burn anew


in hopes of something better

than nothing at all.


breaking dawn


mourning tides pull

bright words burn thru


risk for the taking

optioning surrender instead


a day to ease the blows

solitude chosen for now


in the cool dark space

of an echoed silence.


“The truth is not straining for the truth,

the truth is in effortlessness. The truth

is in being, not trying.”

  • Richard Hell





the sunday times 8.11.19

no way


counter to the urge

of futile necessity


demand thrusts hope away


the sides worn thin and grating

ledge after ledge tempts with the abyss

of immortality


accept that there is nothing

and nothing there will be


think no thought

right no wrong


like smoke

in the clutch

of a dying hand


leave no trace of flight

upon this void.


too long gone


jangled keys in covered clouds

the unexplained movements

of shadow across the heart


hung on a phrase

or a picture of time


a different sequence of frequency

circles traced infinitely outward


the song

the dance

the chorus

the verse


forward thru this endeavor

from which we are never meant

to return.


true blood


caged in the bones of the heart

a harmless coronation dissolved


one last song

like a river



endless of letting go

hopeless of fall


finally unlocked.




reachable ledges

beyond pale comparisons


each endeavor

a step away


in closer proximity

to moments of truth


no unclaimed baggage

to clutter the way


everything owned

and confronted


the table cleared

smiles on a blank slate


both sides win.


“You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.”

– Toni Morrison

the sunday times 8.4.19



hither in the mist


mirror fogged

with the breath of whispers


melody and mayhem


pianos burn

in an opera of thought


everything crashes

then quiets


bolted awake

by the intense hollow

of too deep a sleep


neon crosses line the parlor



the sky alight

with song


and here we remain


alone and waiting.


might as well


the night it laughs

in on the joke


stars wander

thru glint and gleam


beneath this blanket of dark roses

we make do with what can be found


in a look

in a poem

in a kiss

in a bottle of lightning


always needing something to do the trick

we can no longer do ourselves


down in holes of our own making

walking into walls, off cliffs


tripping into shopping mall ponds


oblivious to everything we need

and chained to everything we don’t.




fierce winds

call to arms


others eyes

see other ways


we are not

who we think we are

to everyone


only parts

of another whole


maybe meaningful

maybe hardly remembered


significance is relative


just be kind

in whatever chaos

you find yourself in


be true of stride

and open of heart


bring your light

wherever you go


and the rest

will take care

of itself.


sparrows in the eaves


morning dogs

dodge the diving bombs


impatience cries in the bathroom

while she puts on her face


cold lasers may dull the pain for now

but we’ll really never know


much like needles and car rides

everyone is alone


at the beginning and at the end


all we need to remember

is that love is the only thing


that can make everything in between



“We have to dare to be ourselves,

however frightening and strange

that self may prove to be.”

  • May Sarton

the sunday times 7.28.19

true remains


an open plain

of vast expanse


not limited by history,

conditions, or circumstance


wholly unidentifiable

if not for the color

and the shape


filled with points unknown

where meaning need remain meaningless


to maintain the delicate balance

of mystery and attention


to search not

for the future

of humanity


but for

the presence

of eternity.


out of the blue


broad spectrum burst


we fall as we may


finding none

but each other

in the ruins


cast like shadows in street light


upon the long road home.


a separate illusion


all here


by light


in the middle of an abyss


a microcosm of epic proportion

inside each speck of dust


blood rich with dying stars

mind racing with nonsense and minutiae


distractions from impermanence and acceptance


unable to rise or fall

without broadcast and fanfare


angels with blackened wings

devils with hearts of gold


trapped in our own mythology

of torture and reward


becoming nothing more

than monuments to complacence

and inertia


while every other viable option

quickly slips away.


always here


gone deep


pulled from dream

into the gray morning


light abounds

beyond the clouds


everything in time

is present at once


it is only our view that changes

as it all passes by.




dark behind the door

a turning has begun


flat the falling

of quickness and idea


as the mind goes south

and the day goes on regardless


catching time

before it sails away


a delicate balance


the dance continues.


“Every man and every woman is a star.

We are all free, all independent, all shining gloriously,

each one a radiant world.”

  • Aleister Crowley






the sunday times 7.21.19

encrypted vulnerability


altered chemistry undone

left beyond the break


strange terrain all too familiar

known but not


gradually abrupt

no sense but reason


still the sharp edges of memory

gouge the present


as a painful reminder

of what is no longer here.


simple complexities


tension surfaces

taut wires pull


caged inside abstraction

thoughts converge


confrontation awaits


becoming the door thru which

we accept the craziness

the give, the unburdening


that allow us

to finally

move on.


eternity to extinction


bred to bind and sever

instinct delegated to gadgetry


oceans of storm and static

remain uncrossed


evolution atrophied

by technicality and

easy stalemate


perpetuating disharmony

for the advance of dependence

upon material security


luxury at the cost of peace of mind


none of this matters

none of this lasts


but we obsess over new ways

to make it matter and make it last


while the present becomes an afterthought


and our existence

becomes nothing more

than the same.


deep cover


a kindness grateful

needed beneath this skin


working its way

thru sedimentary sentiment


buried further

by year and scar


but now

the darker it gets

the brighter it becomes


finding a way to flower

in this cold and desolate climate


a true purpose found


everything else

be damned.


“Life is occupied in both perpetuating itself

and in surpassing itself; if all it does is

maintain itself, then living is only not dying.”

  • Simone de Beauvoir







the sunday times 7.14.19

almost here


paths uncovered

souvenirs returned


depths charged

with different light


to bring forth

upon new and rising roads


the spaciousness of attention

to the heart’s truest song.


paper dragons


commonality assuaged

firm on the shifting ground


down in the break

clouds submerged


walls dissolve, further breached

from darkness to light


the circle of knowing

strays from habit


for better means

rather than bitter ends.


what we carry


from end to end

from love to love


approaching edges

to survey or turn about


to feel the reason

and speak the words


to dig and dredge

and give no quarter


momentary and eternal

this span we traverse


so travel light


and if the best we can do

is say goodbye without leaving a scar


we have found a better way

to face the day.


nothing to see



from all directions



and shadow

the same


all tricks

of light

and time


culled distraction

permeates thru repetition


sink to the root

and cut off the pass


neither forward nor back

but the pinnacle everlasting


forever changing


endless moment

by endless moment.


“A mind which will not melt,

with sorrow or love, is a mind

which will all too easily break.”

  • Alan Watts

the sunday times 7.7.19

past tense


back to the same somewhere


the place we leave off

and begin again


wondering if chance

will grace our presence

with reunion


or leave us be

as we were


once parted.


codes and combinations


resonant distance

wired thru emotion

to connect


small windows of reciprocation

to go on for now


thru the next bit of heaven or hell

neither of which ever really exists


mated souls

crossing paths

now and again

help make this all bearable


in the exact moments

precision is needed most.




time deep

in spaces lost


further removed

further inside


a witness to the witness

to the execution no more


arms aloft

open to the sky


ready for everything

or nothing


it’s all for the best.


all roads


thru clank and tread


leaving be

the burden unbecoming


onward with shadows in tow


wiser for losing

stronger for solitude


doubling back

twice removed


tending wounds

of lessons learned


from all that love can bring


and all we take away.


hypothetical void


strands embedded

with encrypted solutions


everywhere the keys

thru wake and dream


adhering to no linear sequence

but that which memory crudely dictates


wordless and unsecured

existence parallels consciousness


only light

only darkness


dancing thru eternity.


no hard feelings


laughing at the heart

still stubborn, still pretending


for all the times

broken and mended


always thinking

never again


yet here it is

promise, possibility


the spark of something

vital and true


a purpose served

for as long as it may last.


“The mind creates the abyss,

the heart crosses it.”

  • Nisargadatta Maharaj

the sunday times 6.30.19



no anchor for places never gone again

to remain adrift in the simplicity of shadow


just out of reach

in the attic of emotion


creeping in and out

from dream to wake


a casting pall

over day and night


carved deep into spaces of time

that seem to mean so much more


than what can be contained

by just a memory.


gold and gray


mask upon mask


a fear so deep

hope becomes lost


until you lean in, reach thru,

touch its surface


and watch

as it ripples and fades

into the stillness and silence


of the infinity within.


strange geometry


formless within the structure

of permanent flux


expansion dictates boundlessness

and limitations


atoms peacefully disturbed

rearrange the order of chaos


provocation tampers with inner weather

while all positions remain relative


and with nothing in our control

but reaction and response


the wisest choice is always the latter

but hardly ever the easiest.


source code


edges of edges


covers pulled

curtains burning


no reveal but what

has always been


bones and stardust

in the mind of matter


wrapped around a heart

searching for so much more.


conscious contact


waves braced for the crashing shore


nothing higher

than a power unknown, unnamed


unbecoming that which spat us out

damn near ground to a pulp


scouring the soul

for that one last light


to see the darkness

for the very first time


from the other side.


“Desperation is the raw material

of drastic change. Only those who can

leave behind everything they have ever

believed in can hope to escape.”

  • William S. Burroughs

the sunday times 6.23.19

as we are


a vantage unique

from this turret of bone

upon a scaffold of the same


an easily compromised structure

housing the delicacies of perception

and emotional resonance


knowing nothing but what we know

from how we see it


filtered thru the imprint

of our experience


colored by preconception

only understood in relation to

everything that has come before;


our innocence lost

the moment we opened

our eyes.


slowly set alight


empty vessels

ripe for kindling


sails burned black

thru harbored ages


faster than nowhere returned


still the hammers of solitude

echo like clockwork


thru the hollow bones

of tired dreamers


turning tide

to shift the pull


everything becomes as it should

once we let go the heart to drown


and find out

we float.


a different kind of blue


the sensation of the sky





or full of stars


nothing between

no wall of self




the sprinkle or the storm

the weight or the worry


outside nothing

is nothing


inside everything

is everything


no escape is needed

to be free.


failed experiment


selective contradiction

sporadic acceptance


breaks of rank and tether

choice freed from the prison of thought


if only instinct

were not thwarted

in its infancy


and the heart

was left to flower

into the mind


as was the original plan.


“We need to sit on the rim

of the well of darkness

and fish for fallen light

with patience.”

  • Pablo Neruda

the sunday times 6.16.19

my heart goes out


back down to the ground


gone for the day

and back to the cave


a bit more hope shot away

nothing a few words can’t fix


soon night will fall

the blank page will beckon


for now

just a bit of silence


and a few more walls to ponder



with my loneliness

at last.


fair game


still in love with

whatever there was


a hard hold to break


far from inception

nothing fits to take its place


the task now

to learn to be at peace

with the empty space


while the urgency

to fill it



more light


removal begets revelation


breaking division

embracing contradiction


we are able to catch the wind

only when we allow ourselves to fall


still the hammers

echo like clockwork


as we struggle to comprehend

the unfathomable difference


between feeling like nothing

and knowing we are so much more


than this body

bound by this skin

in space


and by birth

and death

in time.


counts and measures


dosage relegated

to drops and glimpses


between longer periods

of bombardment and barrage;


keep a safe space within

at all times








“Maybe when something stops

something lost in us can finally be heard.”

  • Jack Gilbert