the watching

An extremely condensed horror film.



I am awake and one thing
is clear: I am
having coffee, watching Godard,
writing this, long-haired
kitten purring in my lap,
waiting for the early morning
ritual of brushing-the-teeth,
washing-the-face, making the self
presentable to the other
selfs judging themselfs on the
merits of all other selfs.

And such is the value
of the selfless, I suppose:
no judgement, no comparison.
no ego to uphold
and no standard to which
conformity is mandatory.

Such is the life
of the saint.
Such is the aspiration
we respire day in, day out.

she who wears a starry crown

she stood starry-eyed on the edge of the starry sky, shimmering reflections of starry dances glistening at her feet in a pool of mirror-mercury. she stood with her back turned to face the moon’s halo–a sure sign of stars falling to earth–and turned her face forward to the ground below. watching from a perch. angled for descent. a starry crown of twelve old lights perched upon a newly crowned queen.