Tectonics

I have always been sentimental to the brink of cowardice-
can’t move on, can’t let go, can’t turn away-
too afraid of losing what I have
to find anything new.

Obviously the world doesn't work that way-
people change, people leave, people die-
and I have lucid moments when I know
this is the only way it could ever work.

I feel myself carried away by great gusts of time,
always with the feeling that I wasn't quite ready,
that if I could have just found surer footing,
I might have kept it together.

Disillusionment

One of the problems posed
by the introspective
descent-into-the-maelström
(of which I am very much in the middle)
is that the illusory walls
we wrap ourselves in
begin to flicker.
How can we stay focused
with the depthless void
yawning at our feet?

What do we do
when we find we can do anything?
When impossibility is the only impossibility,
and the only time wasted
is the time spent worrying
about time being wasted.