Recursive Reincarnation

All patterns repeat;
the difference,
like the devil,
is in the details.
This day is not
the same as the next,
but each life
might well be.
And what if,
even after all
is said and done,
we must begin again
in the beginning,
reborn as a star,
or a stone, or
a whole universe.
And what if
this is all that
anything ever was:
you, yourself, and I,
from beginning to end,
top to bottom,
inside and out,
through and through.

The Spirit of Gravity

I am almost able
to see my demon now:
an imp crouching darkly before me.
Impa shilup, I name you,
soul-eater, shadow being,
malicious spirit, spirit of gravity,
dark specter, spectacular lie,
great entity, cringing dwarf,
you have been with me since birth,
perhaps even before.
You are my greatest weight,
my deepest sigh,
my darkest night,
my weeping eye,
my longest hour,
my ebbing power,
my hungry heart,
my abusive mate.
I have heard
you are a born murderer,
knocking men from tightropes,
waylaying wayfarers,
driving the best of humanity
to madness, death, and destruction,
and you probably killed
my great-grandfather, too.
Suicide is painless
but getting there hurts like hell.
And even if
you have to go through hell
to get to heaven,
not every path below
will bring you up again.
So here we stand
at the crossroads,
at the gate -
this moonlight, this spider,
and I,
and my unwelcome companion -
Nalusa Chito, Nalusa Falaya,
the ghost who calls
and receives no response,
dark imitator, foul thief
of my time and my life;
and the last man
brings me no pain
so great as the perpetual thought
that I might have to endure
my own inability to endure
not this once,
not twice,
but eternally.

Interrupting Poem: Anhedonia

The inability
to feel pleasure -
it is a simple definition,
too simple.
No activity brings joy.
Even usual pleasures are thwarted.
It is as if there is some blockage in sensation,
some lack of sensitivity,
to positive stimulation of any kind.
Pain may or may not be present.
What is significant is the
complete
and utter absence
of all pleasure.
Water fails to refresh.
Food fails to sate.
The fire is cold, the wind does not move you.
Orgasm may even occur for some, but brings no completion.
Basic self-care cannot even give
a sense of responsibility
or humanity.
All attempts
to achieve even a modicum
of comfort
provide only frustration.
My coping mechanisms are exhausted.
The end is in sight
but it is never close enough.

Interrupting Poem: WIshes

i wish i had the courage
to eat bullets
or nails
or glass
or poison
i wish i had steel arms
that never gave in
never suffered
or broke
or failed
or ached
i wish i had a heart of stone
that could not scream with agony
could not weep
or keen
or moan
or dream
i wish i had the kind of friends
you only read about in books
hear about in songs
or watch on TV
or movies
or online
instead i am forever alone
like some kind of joke
in a way that is
wholly infernal
or obscene
or profane
or mundane