every   thing that i thought mattered
does not matter. memories, dre  ams,
the pa st and how i frame it, regurgitate
it for myself and others to see--illusion.
when i was a    teen i looked in the mirror,
squeezed zits and worried wha  t others
would see. now i stay away from mirrors,
a passing glance, i know    that's not me.
time and space, the spinning planets...
what message does the moon reveal
to a shaky hand in frozen streaks?
(on the island:   quiet nights & empty mind.
in the city: ceaseless traffic, bottle   of wine.)
i k  now the moon has no mes  sage for me;
we only ever see what we want to see,
there's nothing to hear if we're not ready.
when i   feel hopeless, i have to find some-
thing to give me hope, usually in words,
though more and more   lately it'  s music--
inarticu  late, the nonsignifying vibration.
the ocean, too, has a sound that soothes,
slowly erodes    the body as you fall asleep.
wake up outside, remember no   dreams.