Flashes of images

Lasting paintings

Things made of clay are

Built up outside a door

Dulled cement leads to

the theater oldishly standing

Decorated with neon lights

Carpet shows the path forward

Outside the theater...

Shooting stars pass over head

Showing the perspective

of a bright trajectory

Perhaps

others saw these

perhaps

they once knew

the findings of past ancients

and things made of clay

Dear Younger Self,

Buy stock in a little company called Microsoft.

Lots of it.

Now.

Love,

Me

“Cut me.” I shudder

at my words. My strange

agreement, the hard edged offspring

of an often inconvenient trust.

A submission to

One greater

than I. The stars testify

and the intricacies of ant life

demonstrate wisdom. So I

remain still, anticipating

more pain. Resolved

to not escape or avoid or medicate

or anesthetize. Though I may find a way

to be surprised, It will come. Perhaps

exact and acute, a surgeon's knife;

perhaps chaotic and

messy, a car crash. Whichever,

Oh God tether me

to Reality, to Love

that does not make

sense to or agree with

the me that You

are cutting away.