Beneath a swirling vortex of stars,
I write my dreams on crumpled paper,
folding each one into the corners of my heart.
Places I’ve never seen,
moments waiting to happen,
they call to me in whispers—
soft, yet instantaneous.


Dive into oceans deeper than fears,
stand atop mountains taller than doubt.
Feel the rush of wind,
the pull of gravity,
the weightless joy of being alive.


This bucket list is more than a record,
it is a promise to myself:
to seek the infinite,
to embrace the fleeting,
to live as though the stars burn only for today.

Despite the hardships we endure,
And of the misfortune visited upon us,
There is much opportunity for joy
If we are brave enough to discover it
And venture to uncover it.
Friendship like romanticism
Giving us momentum,
And belief like passion
Giving us objective.
But will you make the journey
Or settle where you have started?
Will you call home wherever you landed?

Once on the Path again,
sunbound
even for just a heartbeat,
leaving it feels like losing a friend.

May we be
brave enough to see the signs,
wild enough to trust them
all the way back to our hearts.

May we be
light enough for spindrift
to twirl us up into the air
and may we, violently or gently, land
just where we’re meant to.

My companions, forlorn, left Remus Primoid— disappearing like vultures into a Sub-Saharan vista of the night— and travelled back to Earth, missing the the life they had once lived. I, however, had no friends or family to sustain my sentimentality and decided to stay upon Remus Primoid, within the village of Tok-Tuu, hoping to create a life for myself upon this distant world.

In my fifth year as a villager of Tok-Tuu I was permitted to learn the oblong mutterings: sacred chants created by the pre-eminent founder, Oblong Jenkins-Kennedy, who uttered these chants under his breath as he carved the ancient structures of Tok-Tuu, as well as the hidden statue of Tei Romuloid-Papatemuloid, the mother of all life on Remus Primoid, a statue hidden within the depths of the ancient tombs, situated deep within the catacombs.

The mutterings were as follows:

"Oblongboidoid, Tok-Tuu, Tok-Tuu. Boid, boid. Bashin-gore— I sustain my left foot. Boid, boid. Tok-Tuu, Tok-Tuu. Helmonstap-hablefoot, caress carefully."

Upon my learning of the sacred mutterings, I was initiated into The Society of Sculptors. Such joy I felt, in this, my fifth year, to finally be accepted, truly, among the people of Tok-Tuu!

Upon this strange land we beheld organic structures of oblong intonation and mosaic, bio-organic design. The trees grew in irregular shapes, reminiscent of cones and gelatinous globules.

From the shadows, the honourable Nipslip Cockhantuu now aligns with us!

Nipslip Cockhantuu would offer to be our guide— our emissary!— upon entering the sacred village of Tok-Tuu. He would be a conduit, as it were, between us and the strange customs of the Tok-Tuu peoples.

We came closer to the ancient structures of Tok-Tuu, its minarets looming before us as in the dreams of secluded architects. Birds of vibrant colours soared above our heads and danced in strange formations, communicating in a language close to our own. Upon entering the village, Nipslip Cockhantuu granted us the honour of rubbing his dark ******* before the statue of the village's founder, Oblong Jenkins-Kennedy. Nipslip Cockhantuu's ******* were soft and delicate, possessing a gentle, bumpy texture, very much like our own human *******.

Such wondrous celebrations ensued! And we knew our arrival upon this strange orb was a success, and that there would be many discoveries to be made!

Everything is normal
so not much to sing or say.
No summer thunderstorm,
the snow was magical only for an hour.

Old men
aren’t removing women’s ******* with removable dentures.
A belly laugh now and then,
an empty belly’s holy.

With simple joy
mortals may forget to fear their deaths.
Simply put,
we do not survive. But what an adventure!

I heard an archangel cry
Don’t hurt the trees!
Also, save democracy.
Also, stop barking, believing in that higher power.

What’s Ken doing today?
Watching TED talk lectures,
planning next Spring’s garden.
It’s Death, not the Jewish king, in your rose garden.

As climates change
species escape predators
and predators chase down prey.
Choose sacrifice or blame.

I look at faces
and they look at mine, mute, animated spirits,
black wet rocks,
victims among flames.

I embrace my anonymity,
lost in my own city,
in the shade of a gazebo,
a mosquito’s acceptance of its position among a million mosquitoes.

As well as the writer’s balcony
Dressed in the ruins of summer,
Autumn slides,
Crowding at the edges of wakefulness.
The still undiscovered adventure,
Sadness being beautiful.

A trap? Then I'll step

into it, wondering what --


will happen to me.

My friends used
To always be around
Good times, bad times
It didn't really matter
Every day was a new
Exciting adventure

Fast forward 10 years
Our group is scattered
All over the world and
We've become merely
Memoirs to reminisce
On my insomnia nights