Consciousness

If you’re not sure

then pause, wait

and listen to the sounds

of conscious—nothing—ness.

Muse

Therapy Circle

Listening in

on a socially

distant therapy

circle, I hear strange

certainty fading

with each spilled sip

of coffee, squandered

on psychosocial thoughts

in alignment with

the universe

always.

Los Angeles, Westwood

Poetry

What is poetry, but

a language of the dead.

It’s an informal dance,

a shared cigarette.

Poetry is

but a one night stand.

It’s a wine ring left,

sheets, stained

between strangers.

Ryan and Jessica, 2011

Ecstasy in bloom.

Santa Monica

city street bum

sits, full lotus

thoughts rampant

running through

his charcoal beard

wild, I witness his

ecstasy in bloom.

Mural, Santa Monica.

The volume of the moon

I was never ready

but always willing,

unable to refuse

the volume of the moon.

Morning. Key West. 2020

Bosom of her love

He fell hopeful as the rain

in the bosom of her love,

while she gazed at the clouds

which seemed to shiver.

Key West Florida

A walk in the park

What looked like yesterday

out a kitchen window I saw

tomorrow and everyday

moving forward

as carefree as

a walk in the park.

Key West Florida, 2020

The off-days

It’s not the job that does a man in

but the off-days,

when he’s got the time

but still can’t find the reason.

Changes

When the changes you make

need no validation,

you’re moving in the right direction.

Self Destruction

It takes many self destructions

for a man to realize

there is nothing so meaningless

as to destroy what he has yet to understand.