Pi with love won’t die
it’s irrational but rational
between the infinite Creator
and finite creation.

A creation is dead zero
somewhere being irrational
with the eternally Irrational
That can’t be thought,
or felt let alone be seen
is beyond the imagination!
But Qun Be the very creating Voice
at the beginning that
was allowed to be heard!
Giving the rational reason
the creation revives on a tangent.
Turns on to a perfect circle counting on
both worlds perfectly closed!

Follows the Voice in the nothingness abyss
pleasantly resonant throughout
the deepest and darkest hours showing light.
Suddenly the creation becomes so relevant
finds love that was in creating the creation.
It starts to discover its own
seductive narrative arc:
The vital three acts
the beginning, the middle and the end!

But finds no true end
therefore no middle in the middle
no, begin in the beginning.
The creation in the creation
floating in the void nothingness
starts to see the Irrational for good!

circle circle circle circle
no corners yet I fall in
to the pattern each time.

each time I keep to my bubble
you just pierce the skin and I seep out
into your circle

circle circle I am gassed
can't breathe for myself

I think of you as a flower
albeit a rose with thorns but a flower still the same
But what you are is not a flower
or anything that grows or smells as sweet.

You poison me with you circle circle circle
circle until I'm sliding down the side only to sink as you open the shaft and throw me overboard.

Circle Circle Circle Circle
Circle I can't seem to keep myself out of your circle
circle circle.

Laying low and waiting
in the grass, see the sky.
Light above is grating,
caught, perfect, in your eye.
How the moon guides you by
its untroubled movements.
Pristine, untouched, how thy
hand makes no improvements.

With the spear you’re weighting,
once again you will try
in the dirt translating
(caught, perfect, in your eye)
that unbroken line. Lie
that your own amusements
could hold that light. Each sly
hand makes no improvements.

While you stand hesitating,
I place your hand on mine.
“Look,” I say, “duplicating,
caught. Perfect, in your eye,
the moon reflected, spy.
Despite the light’s influence,
to your beauty, his high
hand makes no improvements.”

In vain we satisfy
our heart with our reply.
All of us are truants--
all of nature’s students.

Born from water 
Of the womb 

Walk on earth and 
Breathe the air 

Turn to fire 
On the pyre

i could just run away from the feelings

stuffed in a ***** little bottle

however the actions of others are not determined my the restless beating of my heart.



first went the girl with the long blonde hair

guns and helicopters and doctors' appointments

her backpack was passed around, making it lighter when it returned.



the tall boy opened his mouth next

tumors and legs and feeling alone

his package, too, was passed around for a lighter carry.



the girl with the round glasses looked up

police and fathers and lost purity

everyone took from her heavy bag to loosen the load.



the thin boy with the cuts spoke too

custody and friends and playdates

his luggage was considerably lighter by the time it came back.



the short girl with the large jacket decided to go

voices and death and silence

her satchel was not as full when it was placed back in her trembling hands.



finally, words jumbled at my lips

toxicity. guilt. shame. 

i couldn't hold back, my pack was too heavy

anxiety. fear. dread.

i had to take some weight off of me

anger. rage. hurt.



i opened my eyes, expecting pools of disgust on their faces

instead i see i thousand, shattered, mirrors staring back at me.