at any moment

we can be called away
from our lives

at any second

all we've cherished
will vanish from mind and heart

any time now

we may peek behind
that long-feared veil

before you know it

all we've wondered about
will at last be confirmed



Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

Ever the mistaken love…swept into the reality of the ideal…rather than the ideal of reality…and no sensibility to distinguish…




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

in decay is ultimate freedom

from form


mulch for the blooms

shackled to their roots


bizarre that life is containment

while death is a release


a vase of trembling petals

and the petals covering the table...




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

let us end as we began

going out through the way we came in


well not entirely


what was fresh and pink

is now stale and gray


we came in as blooming stalks

and go out as withered stems


entirely




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

The fleeting moment passes; your chance is gone. And here is another moment; here is another chance. One after another follows, and you are still standing, eyes glazed, watching what we call time whiz passed, your first move still in motion…




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

I’ve always felt that fate had never given me a break.

But then, it seems almost all the rest of humanity is in the same condition, but for an indeterminate few who seem blessed with every move they make, (and who knows how they achieved that status; they are too few in number to register the radar of the rest of us.)

So thus is the so-called Human Condition; an endless stream of bad luck, unconsidered moves, desperate plunges out of alleged sanity, pain of loss, fear of gain, bewilderment in the face of every single moment of decision, lust firing up the hope of a species to rise above the wreck with an ecstasy of titivating nerve endings snapping within the loins, despair dousing that fire and leaving a cold ash of remorse smothering in a closet of prayer and hopelessness, only to end in a calm or violent closing of the eyes.

And out of this suffering comes Mercy? Repentance? Forgiveness? Grace? Peace? (Dare I say…)Blessedness? Dissolving barriers of earth and an opening to the sky?
And all of it right here in the ruining flesh, atonement revealing the unbearable Face?

Mystery of all that animates creation…my body is well aware of the former.

May my soul survive its travails and quests to learn the Truth of the latter.




Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.  

hard to keep your wits about you

when nothing makes sense any longer


but movement keeps your momentum

and let it keep doing so


even if you don't know

where it's taking you


every point along the way

is a dissembling and a re-integration


and a new triggering of wits and wiles and wonders

hard to understand when you're in the process


but you are the process

and every move is a glide along a track


that is only yours

to follow...hard or easy as you make it for yourself...



Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.