The moon hangs cockeyed and nebulous
between two supervisory clouds.
Her pale, obsessive light moans and is lost
to the wind’s pervasive howl.
I watch for her in the day time,
my lost lover,
my mercurial muse. She is always
beyond my grasp.
The stars are love letters ripped-open with longing.
Dead or otherwise unanswered.
They are proof of the uneven passage of time.
I must be immortal for in searching my memories
I find evidence of my life again and again and again.
My nerves shake
and rub together in front of an indeterminate fire.
My dreams are too spread out,
none neighbor to the other,
I must traverse great distances
and vast continents
in my quest for unification.
One day I will be a person
who can stand up and fall down accordingly.
I am uncomfortable in my claims.
Beware of the man who knows too much
for he admires nothing but the fingers of his own hand.
I am just as uncomfortable with the notion of certainty
as I am with the notion of uncertainty.
One defines the walls of your prison,
the other rips off the ceiling and beckons you
into the unknown and ever-changing sky.
A bit of writer’s block today.