What beats
the steady
loving from
a Skinner
stick?
Take a wild
guess..

The heavy
duty loving
from a club
of Death.

Delivered firmly
to the cranium
of those
who haven’t
learned to cherish
freely given
loving of a carrot
from a caring hand,
quite yet.

Give a man
a lever..
and a lever,
dutifully,
he shall pull.

Pay a man
to pull a lever..
and a man
shall dutifully
turn into your
lever-pulling
tool.

But do not,
under any
circumstance,
offer a man
red buttons
that he’s
not allowed
to press.

If you must …

Ask me
to point you
to the root
of evil
in all men..
and I shall
point you to
their greed.

Ask me
for reasons
why all men
are evil..
I shall
tell you then
that men are evil
for no reason..
other than
their need.

Their need
for what …

What once was
my simulation
now became
my simulacra.

The narrative
became the writer
and the play
became the actor.

When a reflection
turns to source,
what ground remains
for finding truth?

The very ground
that offered
fertile soil
to nourish
all its roots.

A pair of soft
and rosy lips..
too far from me
to kiss.
A pair of eyes
that gazed up
at me
with a tender
longing..
that I learned
to miss.

A pair of cheeks
that would receive
my many smooches
with a giggly gusto..
but where are they
now …

My truth..
is that I’ve paid
my debts
in full.

Yay, I have played
the scheming villain.
I have played
the loving fool.

So many times
I feasted on
the very guts
that I once
spilled.

What sort of
monsters
and enigmas
didn’t I subdue
with my poetic …

The Poet’s duty is
to yearn..
and turn that yearning
into song.
To sing its gentle
melody..
the highest praise
of beauty
only keenly watchful
eye can see.

What malady, however,
spells The Poet’s Death?
It is the moment
when there’s no more
yearning in him left …

The proof is left
as an exercise
for the reader.

The faith is right
as leap of inference
for the believer.

The time is up
for the watchmaker
who anticipated it
with every tick
that tocked.

The luck is down
for gamblers
who tried it
just to make
an easy …

By the time
we’ve learned
to miss it..
it’s already gone.

The stars
are sparkling
brightly
by the time
we’ve grieved
The Sun.

The Moon
is in full radiance
by when the stars
have already
dimmed.

The summer’s
heat is scorching
by the time
we reminisce …

Our unity
concealed
beneath
the veil
of our
schism.

The All of us
are merely
passing
through..
our light
refracted
by a prism.

The All
to all The Many
and The Many
to The One.
But to The All
there’s no
before and after.
There is only..
The Now …