My Last Gold Coin

Knowing that you are my last gold coin,
I would never spend you,
I would never waste you
on trinkets, or throw you
to a beggar's cup.
I would keep you close to me at all times
and wear you proudly,
knowing that you are all that stands
between me and nothing; knowing
that this is a richness that the wealthy
could never feel. And if we were
forced apart, it would only be on
my life alone, and even then, I might
die first before trading you, because
you are worth so much more to me
saved.

Would that gardens could grow souls...

Would that statues could be people.
Would that gardens could grow souls.
Would that I could tame my heart,
or create for me a heart unknown.

God is....

God is the absence of space
from here to there,
from there to here,
all things --
at one speed --
moving.

On age...

I have not age to offer,
of that currency, I'm poor;
few years burden my shoulders,
and on yours, quite a bit more.
But I've earned what years I carry
and I'd gladly spend a few
to learn what age can offer
and share some time with you.

What is the point of all this, really?

Should should should....

That's all we learn are shoulds.

They teach us writing by teaching us what came before, what might come next, and what we should do now. They teach us writing like it is a forgotten thing. Like it has no future. Writing is dead.

What do they know? Do they know tomorrow? Next year? Next century? Of course not; tomorrow is for us to decide, not those boxed-in thinkers that cling to old structures because at least, in that realm, they have some modicum of authority. Authority in any given subject is an illusion, because that subject is constantly progressing and changing. The contradiction, then, is that to remain an authority, one must never become one in the first place... one must continue to change, revise, and progress. Move with the times, shape what comes next. One must never think they have reached their summit: all is perception, and most importantly, how you perceive yourself. To reach your summit is to stop and stagnate. That should not be the goal of any artist. Mastery is a lie.

Never fulfill your dreams, and if you do, promise me you will dream again.

The Memories of Autumn

I speak, like the trees,
of the memories of autumn --
of that time between times,
of that road between roads.
Where life settles like dust
and is ofttimes forgotten;
those soft, silver nights,
those days, calm and slow.

It is here we belong
in the memories of autumn,
between our winters and summers,
between our silvers and golds;
and as always, we find
that those paths we've forgotten
keep the secrets we've buried,
and build the lives that we hold.

Sold out

I am a not-so-stylish person
in this very stylish place.
Trends
always make me feel
left out,
sold out.
Like a perfect crystal eyeglass
I watch the people come and go;
and somehow they effortlessly
keep me left out
and sold out.