I wish that I had cared enough,

to mention once or twice

That what I wanted now has changed,

old virtues turned to vice

The past left misbegotten,

and future long disclaimed

The present what I’m running from

—its hourglass in flames

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

If consciousness is emergent,

where is it emerging from

The dualists say… the naturalists say…

but answers just won’t come

As the blue hour seeds the dawn,

before the new arriving sun

One question hard, the self must ask

—how consciousness becomes

(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)

The journey kindled,

hopes ablaze,

a future now unseen

Moments of ecstacy,

moments of grief,

lost ashes inbetween

Cowling on fire,

time a slow burn,

the stationmaster cries…

“The tracks have melted,

locomotive’s in flames

—your ticket singed and fried”

(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)

The jaws sing
As the drip, drip, drip,
Of the petroleum chorus
Dances across
The inverted aluminum
And the hissing starts
And the hissing stays
Its smell a warning
A final omen
Like the last rose
Of summer
Or the fragrance she wore
For that final goodbye
The teeth tear inward
Like the regret for today
And the regret for yesterday
And the lament for tomorrow
Its promise broken
And your khakis red
And baptized
A stigmata
To self infliction
As the music plays constant
And the rushing you feel
An emptying of sorrow
Onto the crushed ceiling
Of a dream in reverse
Of all life in reverse
Until two arms grab you
And you fall from the sky
And you fall from the sky
Waiting
For the ground
To coronate the outcome
And for one more answer
To a ‘why’ unquestioned
And to love you one more time
But the lights are now dim
And the voices muffled
As an organ can be heard
And store bought flowers smelled
As an old woman cries…
And a young woman cries…
And a stranger pronounces
What you feared the most
They didn’t know you
And couldn’t know you
The exit sign flashing
But there is no door
“There is no door”
—and then the music stops

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The only way to escape the jungle

—is in self delusion

(University Of Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

It’s hard to ask the right questions,

their answers easier made

The hammer cocked, the truth in sight

—through crosshairs query bade

(Radnor Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

Much of the time we’re faking it,

the airs we put on most false

Impressions made and set in jade,

green onions the main course

Our friends change out with stature,

as silver turns to gold

An alchemist’s dream, the grandest scheme

—our hearts once warm left cold

(King Of Prussia Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

My right brain writes the Poetry,

my left brain writes the Prose

Separate but together

—each voice the other knows

(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)

Poetry in judgment,

condemner of expression

Poetry in judgment

—killer of truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

He should have loved his children

more than himself

He should have shared his dreams

with somebody else

He should have left a trail

that a blind man could find

He should have been more than just

 —one of a kind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)