Saturday, January 31, 2009


We part our separate ways, and that’s it? Can I not ask why? Where? How? Or perhaps the dead can’t ask? Or do questions keep us alive?
I have memories, but so what? Must I remain a prisoner of my memories? I know they move horizontally, but why not vertically and straight into the sky? Or do they fear that the sky may collapse onto them? Do they then turn into ghosts? When memories become ghosts, do they remain memories or turn to mere fabrications? Can these fabrications bridge the divide? Or is this division beyond a fix?

Friday, January 30, 2009


it perplexes me when people vanish through doors, fugitive like, without a trace, without a sound this moment of departure seems like an eternal banishment: played and replayed, and perhaps now overplayed that I want to disrupt metaphors and undo time and rupture space—the space of inaccessibility where familiar names seem disjointed, somewhat strange now barbed on my tongue and sleeve, barred from sight

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

to wish death upon oneself

is to stop dreaming, hoping, wishing, crying. to live in sustained silence, young, crippled by the lack of light always at the back door of every house. to weep for oneself over petty misgivings, past moments that have died in passing. to read only to search for closure and warmth where there is only a void at the end of each page. to forge an identity for death under one resilient breath. to place borders of fear around love. to hide under blankets and not seek....
to wish life upon oneself is to breathe and let breath be.