(before life begins)

The feeling takes over 

both sides of the coin

No matter how you toss it 

up the air, down the ground

it always lands

Late night anxiety

at some point 

stopped attacking me

replaced by the desire 

to distract myself anew

To become preoccupied

by something productive

passion intertwined 

projects that collide

I yearn to see improvement 

in the pacing of everything 

I do, to make progress 

on preparing 

for what? I do not know. 

Anything else driving

towards me I suppose

But it all feels frugal

All dirt on my hands

to be washed 

down the drain.

Memories are erased

Ideas run away

(and during life)

My thoughts jump 

like a scratched record

mimicking a song

a dysfunctional jumble

words sung off key

Can’t call myself much

How could I? Call,

myself:

singer or writer

thinker or illustrator

I lack in skill

along the essence

of a river which flows

through every human

‘s veins in life

(and upon nearing death)

Perhaps I may not

consider myself 

art until my wrinkles

mark the footnotes

Of my story

written in code 

to be deciphered

by ones in deathcare

loved ones 

viewing the casket

Maybe then 

we’ll discover together

what mystery means

what it all was for

But that’s to be

Determined ‘til

(after death)