What Is Really Real? To love, truly love; to be loved, truly loved... A hopeless romantic's wet dream, their coup de gras. Grasping futility, deathly grip tightening noose of solitary night. Touching hearts, leaving marks, marks of conscious apparent... Not seen but felt in dead of night, that lunar moment  That restless night, the queer … Continue reading #219


Three Line Poem We have ne'er begun for the separation of life, that itch holding hostage life streams unwound. Love remains an unthought known, removed for salient distractions, life, losers, unlove found. Whispering water holds the voice of the age, the singing source of energy not bound.