Charles Borkhuis




dead or alive the same
trace elements
linger at the periphery

the plot thickens but nothing
gets any clearer

except maybe the blind spot
to each point of view

the hollow awareness
of what will never come together
in this or any other lifetime

unless what will never come
is already here
and what has already come
is permanently withheld


the crumbling inner world
of the outsider

intermittent weightlessness
hands on floating strings

the bullet that skewers
a million sentiments

nothing is a sufficient cause

everyone is
someone else's
idea of themselves


or is this the sentence
I can't slip out of

dreaming or waking
living or dying
have no limits

the opposites wear masks
what is beyond them
is between them

what we are waiting for
has already arrived
but its not
what we expected