Repetition inversing,

  black hole in my head

 

In perpetual silence,

 words collapsing unread

 

Reality bending,

 rescinding the end

 

The beginning left virgin

 —repeating again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Explaining a Poem…

 poisoning the fruit

 

The meaning exploited

 —dead at the root

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

 

Can there be a top

 without a bottom

 

A beginning

 without an end

 

A middle

 without two flanking sides

 

Reality

 without pretend

 

Can you stop

 what’s never started

 

Can you die

 before you live

 

Can you see the truth

 without the lie

 

Can you change

 —what’s never been

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Truth lies beyond computation,

 perception aware of itself

 

Its ability beyond the last measure

 —of all theory and data unfelt

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

If lights great speed

 is but a myth

 

And darkness not empty

 as it seems

 

What’s true then false,

 what’s false conscripts

 

Our need to know

 —a cursed dream

 

Has discovery

 made us better

 

Have our souls

 or spirits changed

 

As logic brags

 with ethics blurred

 

To win

 —a losing game

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019) 

Listen your way out of the problem,

 when language goes awry

 

Each word that’s heard, a fuse unlit,

 whose primer never lies

 

To think the pieces wholly,

 as new structure comes in view

 

With time and space in servitude

 —your voice explodes anew

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Poetry,

 a reconciliation of opposites

 —awakening the dream

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Discretions infinity,

 its number unknown

 

One window sufficient

 for its light to be shown

 

An exploding dynamic

 tumbling over itself

 

A singular beauty

 —in the distance unfelt

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)

Will there ever come a time

  when a moment doesn’t matter

 

Will there ever come a date

  when the days won’t connect

 

Will there ever come a phrase

   its words devoid of meaning

 

Will there ever come a song

  whose melody won’t play

 

Have you let what you celebrate

  turn into celebrity

 

Have your messages been transformed

  into a billboard or sign

 

Have you become a lonely caricature

  of a free and lasting symbol

 

Have your words become mere chatter

   —in a pandering for fame

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Every book has a hundred messages

  trying to get out

 

Every song has ten inside of it

  waiting to sing loud

 

Every painting has a hidden image

   fighting to be shown

 

And every poem has a secret voice

   —dying to be known

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)