Just when I thought
I had my priors sorted,
finally and at long last..
God spills the hottest
cup of tea..
New evidence for me
to integrate
into my structure of
belief..
dirty and fast.

It has been brewing
for some time now
in my ol’ posterior.
How else would …

What you have seen
is only but the tip
of the entire
iceberg.

The past is
so far out..
the future left
so far behind us.

Only the present
holds us lovingly
in its embrace..
so near and dear.
The gift of being..
present right
before us..
now and here …

Light dose
of light a day
does wonders
for your sight..
especially upon
a lonesome, dark,
and moonless
night.

Uncoils the double helix..
squarely circles it
right back unto itself..
so that it may
observe its own
behind again.

But does any of it
really matter?
Nothing, really.
Only what …

The End
might be
the funniest
ol’ joke
I ever told.
Minimalistic..
yet Devilishly
bold.

The setup:
It’s so over,
fellas!
Credits roll..
The End.

The punchline:
Gatcha!
False awakening..
We are so back
again.

The moral:
We are still alive..
so long as we
still wake.
Still wake …

Dive into
the darkness,
welling..
in the pupil
of my eye.

What
do you see
out of your own..
reflected deep
in mine?

Is it me
seeing..
you
seeing
me..
seeing
you
be seen?

Or act of seeing
seeing..
act of seeing
seeing
act of seeing..
seeing
act of seeing …

Where else
do we discover
our own truth..
if not in dreams?

To dream..
that is to hold
within thy grasp
the skeleton key.
It pries wide open
doors of our perception..
of our deepest wish..
suspended, by our
bedside.. over
and above
a silver dish.

As our mind
drifts …

Tick tock.
Tick tock.
I am the clock.
I’m counting
seconds..
counting
seconds
when?

Oh, I don’t know..
eludes my memory.
Just now..
and now..
and then.

You see,
the purpose
of a clock
is not to
recollect
the past.

My purpose
is to incarnate
the present
seconds …

Spy vs. spy.
The One already
brings enough of
trouble..
but in the other’s
keenly seeing eye
it doubles.

I only speak
authentic
intel that
my own
intelligence
observes.

But what about
the sleeper agent?
May his dreamless
slumbers in
the deep state
dogma
last forevermore.

But what about …

Don’t hug me..
I am scared.
Except, just kidding.
All I feel inside..
is dead.

For in this match
of strip chess
played with Death..
I must admit,
without a tinge
of shame.. no clothes
upon my body
are still
left.

She played me
down to skin.
She tore …

I was promised
unknown allies
waiting for me
off the beaten
path.

Now that
I’m beaten..
who’s out there
to dish the beating
back on my behalf?

Where are the beatniks
meant to help me up
when I’m knocked down?

Still boxing with
their shadows.
They can …