time 2

the longer I go on, the more I find my time was wasted

I was burning a candle at both ends but only felt the midde

like chasing your spear tip and forgetting it has a dull point….which you hit me with

and in the lines of bitterness and regret, I can only console myself with the fact that

today is the greatest day I can begin my life all over again



once upon a time, I too, wrote love letters or angry letters, or just letters meandering….to father time….and to other things….

below…my good friend Lewis has his own piece actually published

here it is and below: http://www.harpoonreview.com/lewis-mundt


A kind of forgiveness



                                                “For the purest sound,you can’t sing at the notes;
you have to sing 
through them.”

There were nights I said yes
when I didn’t want to say yes,
nights my body floated above itself
and didn’t come back.

I like to imagine where I went instead.
Maybe wandering the city.
Maybe folded, tiny, into a watch
ticking deafening ticks. Maybe
I just went home.

But you have to do the work, they say,
if you’re going to do the work. So let
the body return and work:

There were nights I said yes
when I didn’t want to say yes.
Nights I opened my safest parts
to hands that would steal them
and helped pack the boxes.
To say it happened this way is,
in itself, a kind of forgiveness.
The body returns and I tell
the stories: the nights I said yes,
the nights I stayed, the nights
I did not.

I saw them recently, the hands.
They looked like hands, like
my hands. No claws. Things happen
and then they don’t anymore,
and leaving them behind, too,
is a kind of homecoming.

The body comes back into itself,
the work begins, something else
truly ends.

There were nights I did not
get to say no.

When I think of them now,
they’re a row of watches on a table,
all the batteries dead, all telling
the same time,

none of them today.

one and two


some years back, I found a great young poet

who spoke to the generation of our millennials yearning to find themselves….

her name is Lang Leav…though sometimes I find her works too fanciful, emo and self-doubting or deprecating…a few I like, and are timeless



there is a different kind of yearning, a 30,000 foot view …metaphysical and practical, yet ….enduring, less romantic….

I love the new star poet…Rupi Kaur




I hate needles with a passion.

recently I was diagnosed with diabetes…am trying to avoid drugs by losing weight…I’m doing good progress…but still hate the daily tests of glucose. I have partly disobeyed instructions and only take daily, not twice daily measurements….I fucking hate needles…

once…I slowly sobbed to myself after pricking myself one night….

I hate my body.

and I love my body.

but I hate it more.

3 letters to 3 persons

  1. In some ways I chase you. In some ways I run from you. I will keep the good and leave the bad. Unlike you, I refuse to always assume the worse of human nature, the worse of pretext and context. I will refuse to always see and be as dark as you.
  2. It’s ok if she didn’t show up. Being stood up on a date is the worse thing in the world. I didn’t want to see her anyway.
  3. In another place and time, I would let this go. But in the context of how this came to be…there are some things we cannot unsee, forgive and forget. And there are some things we cannot unlearn.


all my life, I’ve been strong for others.

the base. the rock. the shoulder. the guide post

for once. today, I get to be weak.

and you get to see my vulnerable.

for once. today

I turn , to ask for help.

for once. today,

I will have to lean on you.

all my life,

I’ve had to be strong for others.

and had not been strong for myself.


all my life….