Delivered as Child
I am to be a son
I am to become a man
I will cast the role of my old age
I am rage...

...not unfurled, curled or the world’s it is just another twirl into the vapor of godly entrails hopping bartending spirits remaining aghast at the cross firing back sparks of the universe, the remarks it takes for granted, the relationships it stains with the revenue of heartache and the generosity of the insane I remain uninterested in Time, in the mind of nature resting itself between the toeholds of gravity on the breeze, the wheat, the fleet of glances I cast her. The ever after crafted by poets and thieves and the deceit of my pleas ******* the gaze of eternity...

Life seems longer as a kid
you swim deeper into recompense
Every word comes from a deeper breath.  
Every shadow, consequence.  
The soul struggles
when it feels, you know, the
drunk slipping away.  
It was promised eternity.

Words caught under teeth,
grinding the dust of heartbeat,
stars, the bin of planetary rubble collected by mans
rocketeer tin cans.  
I am a failed star, too small to sustain the fusion process,
to fuse the hydrogen isotopes
atop the delirium of mad cap humanity unravelling its fertility strand.  
My days just land
and will for as long as I can stand

Will to live
To forgive the stars for gravity
For the Time taking you from me
For the roll of blood beneath our skin
Chemical notions doing us in
For the Light that takes us from our dream
The click-clack of mankind; the dusty machinery
Forgive Love for making itself necessary
What Gravity becomes when loose from sanity
Forgive Her face and Her touch
The pull of everything a bit too much

Thoughts, ideas, inclinations given to gravity
like all other heavenly bodies,
their declinations rendered by the shift of Alpha Centauri
or 666 Desdemona or the sudden texture of a moment whipped with scenery
like scrubbrush or unintended asides
there is no place for a soul to hide,
                                             not on any plane

Mathematically,
Our souls ≠ the stars (that drew them)
They cannot be considered
Functions, Sin
In the same Proof
As ORBIT And Collision

The Cartesian coordinates of a sisters’ picture
by a beachfront restaurant chalkboard menu
the refracted sunlight a cosign of the attraction between comets and stars
The bar top is wet from margaritas and laughter.  The camera setting is .63R
The poetry of Time, un-rhyming minutes; words heavy with breath
Ellipse the gravitational pull of death

The shame is that the dead hang on to us
Their fingers the streams of unstrung
Thoughts between our salvo breaths
In The shade of lavender death becomes

I wish For a universe without gravity
To wrinkle the sunlight before it finds me
The wrest of the seconds only sung
No quiver of a noose memory sprung


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