Three poems from the hole

Dulces

The orbs of fate spin heartlessly and cruel through infinity
While the seasons make their rotations
And consciousness oscillates between
Being and non-being
And the sheep graze
And the wolves wait
All is quiet as darkness comes

On the opposite side of the same planet
The sun is rising
Everything is spinning in the void
Every possible outcome since the beginning of time
Manifests and disappears
Here we are existing in the midst of non-existence

At least the love was real
As real as all the emptiness
Maybe the empty space,
Inside the empty space,
At the heart of all existence,
Is love
Reality inside out
Maybe everything else is the illusion
Empty and whole
Two poles of one thing
Outside the mind
Just the illusion
Of separation


Here's the Steeple

Oh Church
What solemn, serious, theater
How prim and pomped with crosses,
Music makers, podium, stained glass.
When belief is the only relief,
And we go looking for a different hue.
Sitting on a wooden bench in the silence of an empty chapel
Listening to the wind and pretending to be a tree
To become the nothingness for just a moment
To choose, for a second, not to be.
Then retreat from God and cry in the darkness!
"I am alone."
This is the beginning of death


Depress Haiku

And now to become
The infinite weight of nil
As winter begins