I see the reflection
of this world
and a reflection of myself,
Thy dilated pupil
sealed its glass envelope;
We consume and produce everything
that ever is, was and will be
simply by perceiving,
It exists regardless
but we give it meaning.

I've come to ask
how subjective is time?
Not the pieces we keep
but the changes we define.
A second is objective, measured,
Yet a moment is held in the mind.
We perceive reality through patterns
which can be expressed mathematically,
Relative to what we conceive, as chances
cohere to determine our chosen state of being;
The question has been: do we actually determine?
Or is it just endless reflection! Can choice shape teleology
and is it more than just mere binary, perhaps a continuum
of infinitely/eternally collapsing wave functions in computation
as the brain strains itself to make sense of this oncoming reality;
Do we lose all semblance of existence when that magnificent ***** is destroyed and at what point does this occur if it gradually degrades? I shall now state that truth, meaning and belief are three sides
of the same coin. You've got three choices
but only two chances,
Not that it matters;
T'was a toss up between genius and madness
but it landed on forlorn and simply rolled away
down an alley into abandon, longing and sadness.

Any man can
Turn a woman on
Like some lightbulb in
The heat.
But I don't want turned on
I want full
Loving
Satisfaction.
Another thing
I'm not a lightbulb,
Stop trying
To turn me on.

His mind wrapped around my neck like a snake
His eyes were sharp and constant
I Knew they held truth
When they held mine
We spoke to each other in a way that froze time
Lapses of speed and light around us while we sat with our wine in a force field of intensely still and silent air
You could cut with a knife
He's dangerous.

I don't want to be a
sometime thing,
in between a
seldom seen and
just something
until something
better comes along.

I just want to be an
always thing,
just outside an
always there and
your everything
when everything
better is long gone.

"You know, this skirt used to be white."
She said, standing over the garden.
Her hands nervously straightened
the folds and creases and pleats.
The skirt was a little too long,
and trailed tattered in the dirt.
Her back was towards me
as she studied the coming evening.
"Then something red got mixed with the wash.
But I like it this way.
The way each fabric has a different shade of red."
There were maroons and pinks and purples,
layered as can only happen by chance.
I approached from behind, for the embrace,
and her hands rested on my hands
circumscribing her waist.
Not much was said.
Nothing needed to be said.

I went back inside to do the dishes
she sort of ambled close behind.
I don't know how the conversation started.
But there was a distant fogginess in her eye.
"It's just that I'm afraid of starting over.
I had made such great friends
and now we've all gone and scattered once again."
Her voice cracked and she blushed.
She excused herself, and slid into the bathroom.

Ah, but love, I've done the same as you.
When I left my home to chase after school.
Again, when I left school to wander down the road.
Again, when that road led me back to school.
Again, when I left town to chase a worldly life.
Every time I left dear friends, and lovers,
to chase some wild, cursory whim.

I was in my bedroom, cleaning up for the night.
I felt her presence approaching.
"******, I just need you to hold me."
So I took her in my arms, and waited patiently.
Then she cried, and it was fine.
Nothing's wrong with weeping free.
We slept in each others arms that night
which was a strange occurrence for me.
Usually I'm wide awake with the rhythms
of breath and heart cycling beside.
She spoke in her sleep,
words which she didn't understand the next day.
They were simply one iteration of a single phrase:
"Thank you."

That's the closest she came to saying "good-bye."

tree branches,
wet with rain,
swayed by wind,
glistening silver
in the glow of a street lamp.
                but
moving, creaking in the night,
becoming feathery spiders' legs
reaching out to seize their prey.