Skip to main content


Showing posts from August, 2017

before the day ends

missing out
but where does that go?
immune to absence
until my dreams awaken me

but i'm not sincere
no, not here
for the absence radiates
like a sun in a sky of cigarettes

the sun, forsaken
a burning hole
like a flame without a match

i can't tell the nights from the days
in this effervescent haze
i've been waiting so long
though i don't know what for

and yet, i lie again
i know what i wait for

my thoughts are a home for you
it's just that you don't live there

my apologies on standby
or rather, standstill
mine stand still
but yours merely sit down



I look through the trees at the glass windows. They are flaxen, though man-made, an architectural sun if there ever was such a thing. When I stare at the actual sun, the act negates itself; my stare is forbidden by unmitigated admittance. All possibility of future sight is left in shambles if I choose all potential sight in situation. The windows don't fare much better in terms of accommodation. The reflecting gold is so viscous that I am only left with an image of myself and outside surroundings, though the purpose of windows is to see through a priori. The teleology of the windows have become subordinate to contemporary aesthetics.