AND ALL THEY GIVE YOU IS THE DAMN ANSWER (Published in Art Times)

The lines of fragmented ardour pierce as crazy rays-
this way and that,
And I am left bereft of much to say,
But anything that will bring,
This geometrically inept mind,
To incalculate understanding.
Yet it all keeps coming to 360 degrees,
a full vicious circle of transience,
Quite moot in its points, configurations and convictions.
For the variables may alternate,
But the solution is always the same,
One which never ceases to elude your figuring as to how you got there.
So, you go to the back of The Book-any old book,
And all they give you,
Is the damn answer,
on yet another 'Why?' axis-
An elusive coordinate,
Survival vs. Thrivance,
this Life and the preserving of it vs. this Life and the Living of it.

A WINNING FILIBUSTER

A ravenous desire,
And a broken will,
Walking on barbed wire,
Another vetoed Bill,
In the House where Discretion caddy-corners the Senate of the Id,
Falling over the edge within a dream within a dream within a dream,
I awaken to the maniacal laughter of the spin-doctor to the Politician of Pain-
A winning filibuster.

I, ONTOLOGICAL

It's not the weight of the world so much, 6 sextillion tons of dead weight.
It's the weight of the self, black hole singularity, infinite live weight.
Even demi-gods eventually fell, gave into the weight of their own worlds.
But truly, the question is posed-
Which is a more reasonable & sound expectation?
An inquiry not altogether moot.
Yet still, both are unaswerable, given the lack of any empirical affirmative and/or negative to be found.
Thus, to which do we owe our devotion, the prostration of ourselves?
If it is said that the outer world is changed first from within the chrysalis of each self,
how has the world gotten off so easily?
How has anyone transcended anything?

We must be gods.