Excerpts

I p. 4

Sunlight hits the paper

Sunlight hits the paper with renewed insight. The end of the page is not the end of the world. There’s a mountain full of diamonds where dreams rustle in the rumbling mind, waiting for arrival.

II p. 6

Filters, windows, doors, hallways

Poetry is the magic missing link to express tragedy and capacity. Hope flows from inner spirit, clicks with bones to forge connection, and extends the dream to the peak of plain life moments.

III p. 8

Rain is a typewriter

Rain is a piano that plays on the skin. Rain is a blue guest that is always welcome in. Rain is a typewriter making poems.

IV p. 9

No one is shadowless

No one is shadowless; no one has escaped despair. I want to be like a cloud, patiently traveling through a world entrenched in pockets, eclipses, delayed indefinite involvements…

V p. 10

Brilliant Truth

Brilliant Truth is invincible, unkillable, fearless, and fierce in its pursuit of pure momentum. Continue to seek this… Brilliant Truth.

VI p. 13

The Indefinite Mystical Night

I wish I still had the original paper that I ran to immediately upon being woken up one evening in my youth. I heed the nudge, situate myself before a notebook, and begin to drip words out.

VII p. 17

The walls of words

Between Truth and the world, writing material is endless. Muffling behind the walls of words are meanings. I am certain the curtain of the future will open.

VIII p. 19

I am just new every moment

I am just new every moment I live. The proof of my self is the love that I give. Question the eyes coming clean with no shadow. Believe without doubt that the truth will be known.

IX p. 25

How does a poet sea?

How does a poet sea? By lonely sitting and secluded listening to voices sent over waters. Everything is important to the poet, to take down and give sound to. Enter into the humble book.

X p. 135

Dust in my wings

Every choice we make adds beauty or grief to the world. Once upon a time, I was an addict, but I now resume my dream, with dust in my wings and a head full of words only I can put forth.

XI p. 193

Blank page eternity

Return to simplicity. Blank page eternity. Sitting still during the storm and not responding to urges. Balance on the blank page the anguish and the rage.

XII p. 194

A lonely transparent whisperer

I’m a lonely transparent whisperer/ I am a quiet flame/ I am a poet secretly seeking to know everyone’s dream and name/