The emptiness

between

all thought

is a siren

Life

 only gives birth

in cogent

reflection

Her wasteland

is dark

if she traps

you outside

Distilling

the distance

between

body and soul

Neither coming

nor going

existence

implodes

Neither coming

nor going

the schism

explodes

Neither coming

nor going

all motion

is dead

Neither coming

nor going

only madness

— remains

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Some things

are better

after

the fact

Like Woodstock

the Edsel

song lyrics

retracked

Some things

are better

when time

is removed

Alive in our

consciousness

forever

— renewed

(The New Room: September, 2026)

Entrenched behind

his verbiage

Each word

becomes a shield

Armor studded

hard to pierce

In phrases

— not to yield

(The New Room: August, 2026)

Poetry contests …

skew the way

hoping

 for a win

Ink

that never  

truly dries

lost within the din

Words not felt

but chosen

to stay

forever cold

Spiraling

to depths unknown

in darkness

— bought and sold

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Unless

I join you

in your decadence

we have no real connection

As Kirouac

you mirror

and Burroughs

you acclaim

In self

abuse

you wander

in dread of every mirror

True dilettante

of life’s betrayal

in squalor  

— where you hide

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

The aging

of our memories

Each year

a thought turns grey

Till all that’s left

is time bereft

And darkness   

— leads the way

(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)

Roses

of the unborn

planted in

my childhood

Blooming

not once

but forever

in my memory

Blooming

not once

rediscovered

in my longing

Petals

of transcendence

falling softly

— out of time

(Deamsleep: August, 2026)

All living

creatures

are lonesome

for God

Giving

them purpose

their light

in the fog

Not feeling

sorry

or thankful

in vain

They crave

the connection

their nature

— ordains

(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)

Black or White

a common soul

Beneath the surface

of hate resold

Uncolored ground

that buries deep

A shared endowment

— to haunt our sleep

Trying

to retrieve

the things

you threw off

the boat

before they

sink

and with them

my legacy

They drift

in the

saturation

of what never

should have

been said

and never

should have

been thought

I

fall into

the dark

water

where our

past

spawns in anger

treading

in desperation

Hoping

for a

last reprieve

still floating

on the

surface

of what

never really was

— and never will be again

(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)