Poems: Nonentity

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July 2, 2007~


I am a sociopathic entity.



A channel for the thoughts and words

that are not mine,

and leave no trace.


A conscious with a conscience.


A vessel for the inconsequential,

detrital components

of a human society

beyond the grasp of redemption.





between sight

and mind,

hand and thought;

weeping utterly fails

to bear me any relevance,

and my laughter is a mocking shadow –

a chameleonic parody

of the insensate culture

that bore and  now surrounds me.



The concept of meaning,

the thought of another’s


– life –

these things a ghost of recollection,

a memory too threadbare to discern.


I see living, breathing shells,

hosts of emptiness,

pass around me and out of sight;

I cower into corners

and smile convincingly out of the dark.



My weaknesses in flesh

and state of mind

collapse in on me,

and my beliefs

and confidence

and surety of sanity

collapse in on me,

and my negligible awareness

of the matters that go on all around

and mean so much

to such smallness in the eagerly oblivious minds here and there;

collapses, too,

and I long feebly to withdraw

into the self-contained (centred) safety of black,

but cannot.



I am incapable of passion,

of emotion,

of sympathy and empathy,

of deviltry

or constancy.


Love, life, lust,

anguish – all rust.

Alien tongue,

and distasteful in my mouth.





Watch me stare

don’t blink;

I am a sociopathic (non)entity,

and I am ruinous.


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Poems: Life

Basement Spider Feeding


October 15, 2006


Life is too powerful.

Small things cling to it


A spider will fight to the death for it.

A person will murder

other persons

for it.


Small things.


One’s life is invaluable;

others’ lives of no value at all.

Or at least, of little value.


Small things.


Value has no meaning,

but in life

meaning has no value.

Ironic, then,

to value one’s meaninglessness.


But life is strong,

and some things

cannot be changed.

Value is what stops life being taken –

no more could a spider

bite itself.

Only strength or ignorance

can overcome life,

and I have neither.



death comes in many forms

and one day

a way will be found.


Small things.


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Poems: Creating Nothing

Graves of Viola Burke & Mary Douglas

Creating Nothing

December 31, 2004


So long has been the night

Since my descent began

I am losing the memories

Whose few, I treasure


Eternal hours spent

In replacing creation with reverie

So many times failed

Things I could grasp

Are now beyond belief


My mind is dying

And what I bring upon myself

Prepares my funeral


Weakness now, in writing

Proof for my scorn

What I am to be

Becomes a shell of what I was to have

Consciousness fades

And with wide plains behind me

I continue down this canyon

To the bottom of despair


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