A poem I wrote sat on the S-train on the way home, safe, warm and sound within the carriage I rode in, protected from the raging elements of the temperamental autumn evening outside.
Out of the pitch obscurity beneath my vexed feet
Lies the world, innate and unchanged
Unitary sin, unitary good, sleepless and melancholic like the winter night
I question whatever deity there may be as to the humble tidings of this benevolence
Six billion years away in times insofar unchanged and they are fixated
Wolves whisper softly to each other in the soft morning mist
Tis but the foundation of the surreal, structured symphony that intoxicates us
Unitary time in functional space, the four square borders of reality turned inside out
In a whirlwind of surreptitious gales, I string me a harmony neath my brazen fingers
A one man circus, a solo charade, stripped blank and pale by the joy around me
Inevitability pinches the jaded fabric of turtle skin that drapes the core within
And from afar comes the spontaneous staccato chatter of love most divine.