Open the Box

March 17, 2025

For Knox

From whence it came, from whence it may remain

A parallelepiped flooded by light

Curiosity drawing me forward

Having no other recourse but to write

What is inside? Why is it still inside?

So many questions, and so few replies

I witness the birth of majestic truth

Parrying dithers, to what this implies

Why have others not seen what I have seen?

And if they have, previous to this day

Why not set it free, for all to discern?

Or by holding fast, keeping all at bay

I will open the box and break the lid

Never will any not know what I did

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness

Hums, hums like the background music

Like a kazoo being played by a child

The child I once was, maybe, back when i could play a harmonica

Knew the words to every Taylor Swift song

That was the poetry of my youth

We were both young when I first you

Close my eyes and the flashback starts, I’m standing there, on a balcony in summer air, see the lights, see the party, the ball gowns…

But she was lyrics and I wrote poetry too in my youth

I write as though a quarter century isn't still youth

As though the fears weighing me down are anything…

Scraps of madness, I have plenty to spare

Just, no take backs if you decide what madness was taken was too much

No rest for the wicked, after all

And I long for sleep.

Take some of my scraps, the mind will replenish them in dreams

maybe good writing will break free tomorrow

It starts with a line—

half-heard, half-felt,

like a song stuck in your teeth.

You write it down,

just to shut it up.

But the line pulls another,

then another,

like thread yanked from a sweater

you didn’t mean to ruin.

Now it’s a hole,

and you’re picking at it

because what else are you supposed to do?

Before long, you’re knee-deep

in metaphors that don’t quite land,

chasing some truth

that slips sideways every time you blink.

You call it poetry.

It calls you restless.

You write until your brain

feels scraped clean,

like maybe you’ve won

or at least outrun the worst of it.

But quiet never lasts.

Another line hums,

and you’re back at it—

pulling, unraveling,

telling yourself it’s fine,

you’ll patch it up later.

So,What’s up?

Up is a direction,usually upwards.

What‘s that supposed to mean!?

That,is used to indicate a person,thing,or idea.

Why are you talking like this?What is it?

It,means to refer to a thing,animal,situation,or idea.

what!?

You asked me what,it means.

I answered three of your questions.

Anymore questions?

No!!

Let me ask you a question?

Whats that?

You already asked me that question.

a poem

is like a rock

the way it

demos

Newton's Law

see how

it

falls

and bruises

the apple

of mine

02.18.2025

object challenge @Last

object

object, as in not subject

not the subject but the object

objection, as in what lawyers say

being a lawyer is not my objective but

lawyers are the objects of many a conversation I have nowadays

objectively I’m not sure where I’m going

What it is, an objective? Goal, purpose,

Bedrock of the soil that is intention.

Objects in motion will stay in motion

Subjects in poetry will stay in motion, continuing to write words

Regardless of meaning, of an objective, of objects to write poems about.

Simply a subject subjecting other subjects to his subjectivity

Subject no longer feels like a word with meaning

If any ever existed to start with

Start spark scarp scrape scape escape

Object has escaped containment, escaped prompt territory,

headed towards complete absence of sense

I will not give in to convention

I will deny your good intention

I will not live in your delusion

I will cause you endless confusion

I will not give in and pretend to be

I will be different than you want to see

I will not live in your perfect existence

I will struggle but don't need your assistance

She was an object

She was his

To keep

To mistreat

Once he flew into

a jealous rage

Pinned her against the wall

And stuck his hand

Between her legs

Because he wanted

To “check”

If she had been

Unfaithful

While she was at work

Because he could tell

He would yell

In her face

“Whore”

And she believed

This was normal

Normal boyfriend behavior

And he only acted that way

Because he loved her

Loved her so much

And technically, it was her fault

For making him jealous

For making him act out

But she was only an object

That didn't know

Any better

If you must object,

do it loudly.

Do not let your voice

become another object,

set aside, forgotten,

collecting dust.