Is this the journey’s end
To be seen or not to be
Whether in the frame or behind the lens
A vainglorious weaving
Symphonies written in secret
Near-random scattering of moments obsessively ensnared
Self-absorbed
Sensory entanglement in the strewing of leaves
Force, Harmony, Dissonance and Beauty
Shadows and Grey Winters
In these narrow, ill-fitted sleeves
Will any moment
Experienced
Remain?
— May 2026 —
Sight, sense, vision
and feeling
shatter
With a long exposure and the flick of a wrist
Becoming an existential abstraction
A Dance Macabre
An iPhone’s neural engine catching mural and dancer
in mid-collapse
in a surreal dance
in media res—No Exit
“Everything in your mind is a fake”
Sartre writes, Estelle laments
“It makes you want to sleep”
— May 2026 —
A journey
In this sleeve of flesh
Interrogating the night
From a sleepless vortex
A planet’s mass reworking
The generative defeat of entropy, and
From nothing
Movement
The rhythms of thought
The pounding silence of a room in the dark
And breaking from this evolutionary rust
A future of waking, moment to moment
In the neural enfolding
Reflected in the light
— April 2, 2026 —
The sound of stones in a running brook shape the trees as they dream of flight.
The near-silence is imperceptible except to those who listen for the murmuring of the flower and the fledging of the leaf, and for the lament of the enflamed and the fallen when summer’s symphony comes to its end.
Yet they wake, radiant, the sound of tympani, the pounding of thunder and fire at their feet.
The drumming of beneath us all who are shaped by the sound of stones in sleep.
— March 14, 2026 —
It comes out of the blue,
This fleeting instant when we see in the eyes of others,
Ourselves.
That in the blink of an eye,
We share an experience of release and detachment,
An intimacy without desire.
A moment when uncertainty and turmoil vanish.
That in this space,
Behind closed eyes, falling inward,
We free ourselves from all division and incoherence,
And that it’s enough to be present.
Together,
In the words of T.S. Eliot,
Connected to it all.
“At the still point of the turning world.”
— February 20, 2026 —
