Time immemorial
Individuals stepped in line
Before them, a bank of time
So they would get their share.
—Here, take your time
It’s yours to keep, yours to lose.
I took my time allotment
Put on a smile, as if to say
“Watch me sell this.”
Take it or leave it
Your call to survive.
For ever has always been a fishy pitch.
Yet never was always too much time.
P.S: If that’s not me losing my mind yet, watch me.
Blabbers and gibberish.
Who do you think you are?
Talking to?
Babbles and utterance.
Who do you take me for?
You?
Gray matter, white noise.
Look who’s talking—
The voice in my head.
A performer on stage.
The voice in their head…
It only stops when they sing.
The voice in your head
Is now that motif…
That distracts you from your inner chatter.
You hum along, spreading their voice.
Maybe you’ll sing your own.
There, that’s the spark of your song.
I know this sounds strange,
but I’ve said it anyway.
What now? The act is done.
You’ve read it, and that alone
makes you aware of an in-joke.
The joke’s on the lyrist.
But still, he writes verses.
I know this doesn’t sound any better,
but I’ve written it anyway.
Take it or leave it, the act is done.
Words are symbols, before any meaning.
That’s the spirit—are you leaning or steering?
Would you expect me to toe the lines?
I own my winding lines.
[…]
You said,
I couldn’t care any less.
What’s more, that is not your best.
Last time I checked, you weren’t holding back.
You could see what was coming next.
Who knew I’d love you—when you fought back?
I said, “If you say so…”
Fear not the poet.
What’s the most they can do with a pen?
They can cheer you, entertain you,
then just sadden you soon after?
Oh, they can tickle you?
*a meta wink
nothingness comes
and nothing becomes
obliviates all
things that never come
how come that nothing
is even a thing
is it a negation force
a logical “not”
that turns anything into nothing
and nothing into a thing
as if it entered a denial state
that created everything
inconsistency, if anything
raises inconsistent beings
those who write and read
things just like these
Now the second hand clock
Washes its hands of time
Where was your mind
At those nights you now bet
You hadn’t dreamt of anything?
It’s often said we dream every night
I wonder—how were those dreams
You let slip from your grasp?
Were they any wonder—
Were things out of line?
What secrets lay there?
Were you oblivious
In the face of grand fantasies
You would trade for reality?
Anyway, you’re back
Safe once again
If everything were poetry
then nothing would be…
If only a verse were self-contained
If only a part were the whole
If only everything holds
Yet some things dare to be bold
Some contradictions are truly the thing
Consistent or inconsistent,
Your verses won’t ever explode
When down the rabbit hole
For context, paraconsistency (see paraconsistent logic) is the idea that coherence is possible even without consistency—i.e., contradictory statements can coexist without leading to a logical explosion (a scenario in which anything can be proven true from a contradiction), which occurs in classical logic. In paraconsistent logic, this principle of explosion does not hold.
Reveries That I Call Poetry 