This town is just a suitcase

My soul speaks
Then sings
Like the wind without the rush

You can only hear it
If you close your eyes
Go ahead, close your eyes

The universe,
Big and black
is just a suitcase

Maybe my voice
falls silent on the walls
or maybe it echoes through it all

Maybe my voice
Is like the catcher’s call
Or maybe it echoes through it all

That great echo
down the hall

That echo
since the fall



… all

Hall of Stars


Lonely, some quietly wander in the hall of stars
with time pressing against their temples. Their
heads ache and feet are heavy from trodding
through gaps and chasms of undiscovered
universes. Their quest is knowledge and it is
insatiable. They have never known love, or at
least, never understood why some of us crawl and
beg for it. The hall, being made of stars, is bent, angled
downward, fractured and kaleidoscopic. It is similar, in
appearance, to a thought being born in the channels of
a brilliant mind.

I tried to love one of these souls and got pretty close, but
after months of tiresome attempts at affection, I grew
weary and they, of course, grew cold. I have come to the
conclusion that trying to draw conclusions with people
such as this, is well, impossible.

I only hope someone will be there when it happens. That someone with arms outstretched, will catch their body when it gives way and their brain cracks from the burden of carrying the solution. In the end we must pity them. For we are moving forward with hope and they are being left behind mired in fear.