love is in the witnessing

it might sound trite but nevertheless the only me there is, is the me in memory

don't take this personal

nothing really makes sense


let a smile be your space-time continuum

be provocative and let your consciousness play with itself; feel your being


these words are just more dust in the wind

this dust is just god in my mind

poetry is some words that can't be said about something not really there by someone who never was and isn't


tonight, i only howl at the finger pointing at the moon

now appears to last almost 14 billion years but really is no time at all

as long as one thinks about it, one still thinks one is a thought


love is in the witnessing as proof is in the pudding