The Meaning of Life

You’ll just know.
You’ll just…
know.

I finally know.

Intuition
like a lightning bolt,
like a realization
at the tip of my tongue
yet light-years away
and not composed of any words at all.

Reaching out to touch it,
my chest caves in
as I cross over dimensions
and break through magnetic fields.

Crushing. Imploding. Recoiling. Resounding.

The universe aligns
and I catch a glimpse
of a worm-hole
black-hole
holy grail of light.

If you open up the sun,
life as we know it
will end.

I catch my breath.

Yes.
This is it.

Lunar Phase

It’s a half moon.
And we’ll be leaving soon,
so don’t get too attached.

Looking up at the sky,
no Aquarius could deny
that this has not yet hatched.

E Pluribus Unum

Flesh
and bone
and spirit
occupy this space
and detach from time.

Looking back on this life
that I call
Mine
I see no lines.
I see no forms.
There is no
m o m e n t
I was born.
I have always existed.
I will always be.

Because
T h e  U n i v e r s e
Is Me.

Poem inspired by artwork by Bo Hammer

Coping Mechanism

Repetitive.
Trance.
Music.

Predictable shapes.
Falling.
Fitting.

Instant gratification.

Justification
of hasty
decisions.

Visions emblazoned
on memory
overdrive.

Hypnotize—
paralyze—
aching psyche.

Numbness
equals
no pain.

Fingers clicking
ticking
time
away.

Brainless.
Mindless.

Wasteland Fortress.
Soulless Savior.

Tetris games.

Paper or Plastic?

Aisles and aisles
of choices
and echoing voices
from yesterday
today
and my grandchildren’s tomorrow.

Fat-free joy?
Or whole-grain sorrow?

Just the thought of it
could cause a young man indigestion.

So many questions.
So many options.
So many decisions
to make
or unmake.

Flavor.
Brand.
Quantity.

And is any of it quality?

I’ve got
cash and quarters in my pocket
and a purse full of plastic.

So many ways to pay for my indecision!

I’m not even in line yet
but I’m counting the eggs in my basket
to see if I can get into the fast lane.

But wait—
they’re not organic!
Go back and grab the ones that say
cruelty free.

But now the cost has changed
and the tally is off
and I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be
looking out for me
or for you
or for the mother of my dozen eggs.

I look in my cart
and none of it makes sense.

I have no idea what I came here for.

We

We are a generation of thrill-seekers.
Of broken promise-keepers.
Of flesh-colored water-proof Neosporin bandages.

We are ten steps ahead
but nine lives behind.

We are the deaf
signing to the blind.

Torn between
finding ourselves
and healing the world.
Our only solution is
to medicate both.

It’s not about survival.
It’s about out-shining your rival.
Coveting your neighbor
as if money was your savior
and still finding the time
to polish your shoes every Sunday.

We dread Monday
for all its
paper-pushing petty politics
but come Friday
we go cashing our paychecks
just to throw it all
back into the system
with a round of Happy Hour margaritas
while we complain about
the way our bosses treat us.

Not realizing that we
are our own bosses
who have sold ourselves to slavery
in the most unrighteous
but perfectly legal
sale of souls.

We are more lost than we know.

…

Toy Store Blues

I’m 5 years old
at the mall with my mother
walking past
The Coolest Toy Store Ever.
Tickle-Me-Elmo
is waving at me
from behind the big glass window.
I become
immediately and emphatically convinced
that he is my
best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world
and I cannot live without him.
My mother, however,
does not agree.
She drags me by the arm,
kicking and screaming and crying in vain,
the most distraught 5-year-old child
you ever did see.
I swore life would be meaningless
if I could not have him.
And it was,
for quite some time.
A time that felt like an eternity
before I received
a sufficiently cool enough
Replacement Toy
later that day.

Twenty years later,
all that’s really changed is that
as an adult
it is no longer acceptable
to run kicking and screaming
when you can’t have what you want.
So you hold the feeling in,
saying nothing to no one,
and hope it doesn’t eat you alive
before your next shot at
unrequited love.

The Love Cycle

It’s a slow process.
Like the changing leaves in October
or the first snowfall in December.
Eventually Spring will thaw the ground
and Summer will hardly remember.
But the passing seasons of love
do not follow the hands of time.
Only when the heart is ready.
Only when my heart is mine.
Staring at the barren branches
will not make the green leaves grow.
Just continue on your journey,
then the blossoms start to show.
Love will lead you through the changes,
with or without seeming reason.
It never dies, it just recycles.
Time to face the coming season.

24-July-2006

Blue Lagoon

That moment was beautiful.
Take me back there.
Let me live in it forever.
Let me find sustenance in the sunshine
and the sand beneath my feet.
Put that moment on repeat
and let it comprise
an entire lifetime
that I may call my own.

Haunted

Your absence is a presence
that haunts these unchanged walls.
Everywhere you were
is now everywhere you’re not.
And there’s nothing,
less than nothing,
I can do to bring you back.
So I just stare at all this emptiness
as memories fade to black.
I wish I wasn’t haunted
by the angels of my past.