Current Transmissions:


Poem For the Postmortem Mind

If the answer's in the wind
What is the question?
Nothing is sacred
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Sayings etched on the walls of the mind
Truth revelations hidden in scrawls
Lies conceal the truth that matters
We are who we are
Or who we think we are
When we think what we've become
It's just the tip of the iceberg.
Underneath we are layered
like onions on a counter top
waiting to be sliced or chopped
and put into a sauce.
Universes in my coffee cup
Sipping away billions of what ifs
Merging with the meta life
One can only forgive.