There’s no proof
only presence.
The moment we imagine
the staircase
There! Its destination is
our mirage.
An endless road in ceaseless canyons
There’s discomfort in the void.
Helplessness. And even
every act of violence there ever was.


And our efforts to put shine to
big black’s sweep
are as beautiful as they are futile
The efforts, I speak of!
Are as necessary as they are
As charmed stars, we create our own weight
by our light’s refusal.


impossibly now, there’s pressure
and clenched fists
What have I worked to fill?
What beginning and end have I sworn
by birth
to imagine?
Vibration, meet echo
Hue, see shade
Rest now.
There’s no proof. Only presence.


Point time’s formless finger to your heart
and collapse your hand to feel the beating
of the only organ
You are meant to play.

– Danny/TL&TW/December 1, 2015