The eyes of day drinking the night
The moon as a sun
Waning joy in the warmest July
The cries of no one

The hand of day draining the night
The moon acting red
Waning clouds, crows that can’t fly
The man in the bed

How long must we stare at the clocks to lengthen our time?
How livid must we try to be to soften our crimes?

The veins of day defended the night
The maddening streets
Galavant boys gather to buy
The pains from bed sheets

The bones of day deepened the night
The mad and their speech
Given to garner an eye’s early buy
The throne of the leech

How well must we mark our path to forget the day?
How lonely must we try to be to believe what we say?

The ears of day demanded the night
The stagnant drifter
Venting smoke and violent sighs
The doubtful thinker

The heart of day deluded the night
The stagnant as one
Must it take such a colour to save the sky
From the forever sun?

How well must you fight to survive alone?
How many tries do you have for the perfect headstone?

I cannot state in good faith
That we were built for the human race
Who can spit and stand for that?
Bobcats and Confucians
Living through palpitations
And making love, wearing hardhats

Here’s the bran for the land
That took the bus in the freezing rain
Never planned to understand
The chastity of the impaled, all refrain
Someone must have prayed for such a fate

Curse the man who discovered that
Anyone who gives is a fading fad
Give me some empathy
Not some methamphetamine
It hurts enough to read the new design

Who wields the cannon?
And shall we give him a medallion?
Or risk a wilting, flying flag?
All grains are equal
All stain the feeble
All ride a boneless, brazen stag

Here’s the sermon in white
Clothed and baptized in grapes
Making light of the sight
That was stolen from a clothed and ragged ape
Someone must have narrowed their gate

Curse the woman who recalled
The pews as barren shower stalls
Give me an embassy
Or obsequity
Apathy straddles the razor line

Where’s the loss and who shall cross
The line of consummated minds?
Whose ink will sign the secular floss?
No one’s bred to live for death
Or bequeathed eternity
Who are we to elongate our breath?

We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past
We will pass and be past

Here I find myself
In a semblance of an assembly
A spineless lizard
Lazing with a sheet
He tells me sweet acrimonies
About balancing his shelves
Appoints himself a wizard
Over anybody else

Tells me of obligations
Within a life on parole
Upholds his occupation
In an insulated hole
Bestows us something he don’t hold
And demands we give it back
Sanctifies the mold
That is soon to shape our tracks

Hollow hands for thankless kings
That pull no gratitude
He wears a tune he doesn’t sing
Dares to worry of our food
He patronizes a choir
He grasps the open sea
And says “I have the fist of salt
That will lead to unity”

Coddles us like Cain
Treats this brick like a stable
Life doesn’t drive in lanes
Elastic minds are able
If you’ve gone to deride us
You wear it on your form
Don’t brave an iron suit
You don our skin, Norm

You read your your books on nature
You’re bred to expect rain
Yet waste a breath to nurture
Some other person’s reigns
Dread a life that keeps you well-
Beholden to the rule:
That life is tethered to a bell
Engulfed in packless mules

The plaques have realized
That degrees aren’t built for learning
They’re pleased to be earning
There’s no point in yearning
If your mind’s quickly burning

Page sticks to oneself; indentations upon indentations. Soon, it will all- or perhaps later?- it will all homogenize into a gestalt; a brain. Then, not long after that Exodus of the Neurons ™, the piece of wood will reanimate, shaking my hand and fishing for planets simultaneously, like any other sentient being that remains aware of the dome domain above us (or adjacent to?)
This is no performance, it is mere proof that my stimulant is optimal, that I breathe with vigour in my feet and weight in my fingers. It is a display of my gradual decay, foretelling the prognosis that I dare not utter: what can I do if I fall under Alzheimer’s heel? What then? Will I forget of the paragraph that I had just written beforehand? This pen, will it treat every word as a home to rest its riches in? This vagrant of a fool, he must remember his treads, the soles of the people that have led him to wherever he’s gone. What is the Joker without inspiration? What is a dancer without awareness? What is a figure without substance?

In the event of me writing
And that fool’s subsequent passing
There will be word, tied tight like a rope
Exhumed slightly, the “oscilloscope”

It is a fleeting word that I grapple with
Clumsily, with pink convulsions as accompaniment
I know not what brought it, what it ever did
But it hardens in my brain like like nostalgic cement

The sentiment is where I strain it through
The dream that conquers my starving brain
The word that stirs a visceral brew
The dance of the neurons, and their thinker, estranged

It is under a glass ceiling, this electric swing
Where the Oscilloscope Orchestra comes to play
Their transparent tools and conceptual strings
(Through and) In the oscilloscope, for their incessant days
The masked marionette cuts the air into pie
Wave wielders gape through their saccharin sighs
The stringists and streamists play the Forever Sky
Wave-waked comics turn the egg of the eye

Its proper definition eludes my intuition
The time of its birth, closely distant to mind
It may be a device, or a conception of my vision
Or the gestaltic train of my cyclical grind

An oscilloscope sees the passage of time
Through electric currents of a lost frequency
I’m glad and amazed that
I rhymed with the finger of a poet
And could show it through the arms of a mime
Without the immaculate depravity to know it
These conclusions are married to time

I’ll aspire to thank my thought-crime
For my ignorance can unveil the sea

The grasp of space expands, the seer
Holds my own pleasures, my frigid frights
Despite galaxies tasted, I still feel near
To Alpha Centauri, and your blue world's sight
But hide me away, beneath milky waves
For my shame could span a system twice
In Sirius' twilight, I'll spend my days
Away from my dearest darling

My dear Virgo, if I could tell you my pain
Of speaking in tongues that shake death’s hand
Then I would still be holding you in the rain
But now, rain is small, and the void is grand
From the rings of Jupiter, is this apology much?
Because now, I am drifting farther away
Distracted by the likes of explosions and such
I must keep my sins lost in the skybay

These ventures, I will scream of, to the cherry beyond
Of saccharine sights and flavourful dreams!
For surely, no soul knows what's going on
In the falls of Carinae, it’s as beautiful as it seems
Here, it is bliss to wither away
This is not light and I do not sing
I am silent amidst waning supernovae
Vague senses of sinister, near Andromeda's ring

A beautiful lie it is, the Pillars of Creation
For they have crumbled millennia ago
My beautiful sunset, unseen causation
Dead for a time, before you have grown
Hell will break loose in your sky
And that world will know what beauty brings
I have been left to the twilight's *****
Now, I tire of looking at dead things

Dead things before, dead things again
Galaxies will collide anew
I tire of the cosmos repeating in vain
Along the tides of space, shall I come back to you?
I send you this postcard from GN-z11 
How have you been? How have you aged?
Have you missed me, as I dangled in havens
Or did time miss me only for a day?

It does not matter, I'm coming home!
I will shed my wings in due delight!
I believe I will adjust to your blue dome
The universe, finally away from sight
No more will I be a valiant flea
A simple life, I'd love with you
A yellow hut, rested by the sea
Skipping with my sunshine, on a bayou

Dearest Virgo, we will look at the stars
We will see dead things, and they'll twinkle in your eyes
I'll speak of light, talk of galaxies afar
And we can laugh about how we are mice
I’ll look up and test the waters
And it will remain a lustrous view
Ominous as it is, in a perennial saunter
I would not miss such bliss, for then, I'd miss you

Across the galaxy, I'll make my way back
You will be waiting, as I find beaten tracks
I'll ask, "could the universe love me as much as you do?"
You'll say, "alien, my love is only of truth."