The 365 Project

i have bathed in the stream
of consciousness under
the featherbed pillows of
reason and rhyme

the dust under boxcars
makes me sad like how the
purple summer sun sometimes
seems all alone

it all means something
doesn’t it
it’s all nothing
isn’t it

staring back at me like a
religion of photographs
torn from a stranger’s journal
or breastpocket

an alchemist’s crucible
the gloomy vessel of
powdery failed attempts at
dreaming in gold

it all means something
doesn’t it
it’s all nothing
isn’t it

pound grommets into anvils
of soap and birdfeathers
string them with gossamer thread
garments of hope

it all means something
doesn’t it
it’s all nothing
isn’t it

bhagiti 9.25.07 perrysburg, oh