being contented
and therefore
there is no millstone
to push around in the brain-grey
even life’s bad strokes prove useful
their hex weds lesson to reason.

an ironic orgy of nothing
as if luck did not exist
the upswing contains drops of Yin
a little poison for the system
their hex blesses endurance, immunity

strength is the name of the game
those grains pass the cinch in the hourglass
so slowly & fatally the descent brings education
is there enough left for to better steal [our] time?

Try It

To close your eyes
would make memory
burn their lids
from inside.

You can have it.
I’ll take liberties
with that.

Sweet nothings?
We lay them like snares,
you don’t fall so much
as get hung up.

To picture you perfect,
we always do.
Like Joyce’s Michael Furey in “The Dead”.
The Idea is always better.

You are crazy,
I’m just as bat-shit,
to pair up with you.

Hate grows from seeds
sewn in the soil of love.

The more you give someone
the more its not enough.