people

solitude’s not always profound

yes, you should watch tree canopies

sway awake before snoozing back

to a deep-rooted slumber, or

gawk at whatever’s in front of you

as a whole - unlabeled and unformed -

like your feet’s by the edge of a pit

bearing an infinite expanse.

but it doesn’t matter much without

people.

what’s my purpose?

rattled my brain with that for a while.

18 characters bearing a labyrinth

on the valleys of w’s

making you run circles around o’s

before it’s guillotined by ?

no escape.

Sisyphean.

go back. retrace steps.

then do it all over again

until you take the phrase

as your lover to warm the bed

at night.

18 me thought psychedelics were the answer.

guzzle down whatever’s on hand and wait

till outlines wave sine, and

“oh wow, I’m inside the carpet.”

then a psychic meat grinder churns me through

till death makes me sign the contract, and

“oh fuck, yeah I really shit the bed this time.”

then I’m back, staring at a world made of

thread and wool, with more questions

than answers.

purpose changes.

things don’t stay the same.

they never will.

I wasn’t the same 5 lines

and a couple of rereads ago.

but what I wrote doesn’t matter much without

people.

yes, in each one of us lies an innate

need to leave a mark - graffiti on walls

of gas station bathroom stalls that say

“Joa was here.” or quotes from books

decorated in fingerprints of ghosts

because we don’t want to think about

how small we really are and because we’re

people

and we say “Fuck off” and brute force

and jam our own shin bone in a 5D

rubix cube to solve it because we’re

human.

but this whole thing doesn’t matter much without

people.

what’s that philosophical tree?

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

or

“If someone writes a poem and no one is around to read it, does it even matter?”

maybe. maybe it does for that someone.

I wasn’t the same an hour ago.

this whole life thing doesn’t matter much without

people.

to be kind. to leave a mark on the walls

of brain folds - good or bad,

better than a void, better than being

a ghost of a ghost.

that’s my purpose.

or maybe not.

I wasn’t the same two days ago.