A Paracosmic Life
The snow that hits the pavement
or the tongues stretching to catch.

Our wallets that long for the green
and our thoughts that chase the future
leaving the present lonely and cold.

Our attention, full of lust
a TV here, an Xbox there,
our inebriations, it dulls us
it numbs us.

Love is feeling
and we are fleeing.
Original poetry
Oh, my sweet stranger
with your boat shoes
and socks
and flesh that is embraced by the Sun

No wonder the Sun loves to stroke you
to comfort and give you little hugs.


Sit with me
a dirty young man
whos wings are coal-stained
and not bleach white
like Life.

My love
my lust
it is honest
it is viscous
and vicious
it is all-encompassing.

I am not pretty,
but neither are you
when we dig deep enough.

I have embraced a love of beauty
of authenticity.

It’s not clean
but its true.

Lies never hurt,
but they are empty calories.

Truth hurts
but it hurts good.
and it is the substance of a vital existence.
Original poetry; Jonathan Gill, 2014
..where we had thought to find an abomination,we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another,we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward,we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone,we shall be with all the world.
Joseph Campbell; (The Hero with a Thousand Faces,p. 25)

Beautiful Stranger

with the pretty face,
how I value the beauty I see.

How I wish to reach out,
to touch you,
not with my hands,
but with the weightless,
essence of my soul.

Our souls.

But I fear,
that a book’s cover,
is oft not matched by its substance.

I seek much more than flesh.
I seek a soul,
that speaks that same Beauty.

A story,

perhaps not a happy ending,

but a plot worth pursuing.

Original poetry; Jonathan Gill, 2014

Sleep is not; Death is not;
Who seem to die live.
House you were born in,
Friends of your spring-time,
Old man and young maid,
Day’s toil and its guerdon,
They are all vanishing,
Fleeing to fables,
Cannot be moored.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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