musings & scribbles

is this
   precipitated cup
     half what
          or
           what?
     it will be
          filled
            again!

there’s me
in this blue/
          black
              screen!

there’s me,
nose
  bright & high–
 and this head
      lowers to
      hide that
               fact.

a particle of You
         reaches at and taps me,
                                 gently,
                                     on the tip of
                                             a nose
                                               too uncared for
                                                     to know
                                                     it’s been
                                                       touched,
                    except
                          the rays of You still linger
                              ’til these cheeks grow blushed
                                 in reply of You

this  whole  has  drifted,
                been knocked by the dock-less boats
                and left to wander
                            to borrow
                             the waterways
                                 while
                                      others
                                              others
                                                   others
                                                        find
                                                           ways to
                                                                  divert me
                                                                       though i
                                                                             i can’t tell them
                                                                                   to ‘llow me be

there is a world behind your eyes,
the darkest place you only know
when the lights are out and you,
you are falling asleep/falling for
the only goal you know is worth the blood in vein

there is a world beneath your nerve,
in calm of inner-you/your sea, on varied wave
brought close for sail of moment, far, in wade
of tide, your finnecky friend never quite there/
never quite here.

Who will you be
when you are no more?
is life a set of moments,
believed to be the personal,
the personality,
the culture of you,
your world;
is life a set of moments,
believed not to be this,
personal, this, personality,
this world,
but, rather,
so inside
as to be all without
while in
while
You
while
All,
  the Expanse,
                   the
                        calm,
                               the
                                    nothing
                                              and
                                                   everything
                                                                of You & All.

the hurry-walking crowds in rush of wind,
                                               Moon’s child,
                                               Earth’s relative,
                                                           gravity.

because later you’ll know
   she was always
somewhere

eyes wild
as though
     you nev’
            seen the
                   world ‘fo’
                       but i
                        know this
                            sight, bright,
                             blinds me
                              from know’le’ge–
                                      sense of
                                        life, the
                                         er’rant
                                          en’ergy
                                             s’rrounding
                                                us, what
                                                 is
                                                Life,
                                                     lived,
                                                     a
                                                     living
                                                           history
                                                             of only-known
                                                                 mem’ries