if you look up, you will see
the bright-eyed and
the wide-mouthed—
the interesting, the casual, the adored
glistening in the warm night
peered at through microscopes and
telescopes and stethoscopes
far and far away

we are so desperate to be close
close and close and
close enough to see the blemishes
the scarring and the peeling
effaced by obvious and biased inner-commentary
they’re just not as red or sore as mine
perhaps they were formed under
a different kind of sun

what does the unfamiliar heart say?
does it sound at all like mine?
will i ever escape the sloppy grasp of dullness?
will the world swallow me whole?
if i count the days on both hands
on toes, on eyelashes—
if i only eat green things and
read tattered books and
pretend that i don’t mind—will i ever
break the mirror?
will i find seven years of good luck
between the jagged edges?

to exist as a reflection
is to not exist at all
there are lonely, dark purple heavens
waiting for you to sever your longing gaze
to stop lying to yourself
to hop onto the back of the cow
and begin living somewhere beyond the moon—
to realize, with closed eyes
you belong to the sky

Herpetologist meets actress (Cameron Diaz).
If he's funny he's me.
South America or Africa (on location).
In a diamond mind.
The protagonists (lovers), the diamonds, the miners and the minders.
By minders we mean watchers, organizers, supervisors.
As all art must: choose a focus.
The personal is political said Cameron on the night bus to Quebec.
I had never met a girl so willing to make love in public.

To what extent is violence necessary? And
is that the essential question or
should violence be accepted as man's state, fate
a more essential question existing beyond or below
peace or war. Perhaps
the religious and (for the irreligious) sacred injunction
against egregious violence exists
to still ourselves
to open ourselves
to the deeper question. That Cameron Diaz is funny and beautiful
is hopeful. And the telescope and microscope have extended
the eye's appreciation. Under the microscope
Cameron becomes a collection of foreign, alien, uncompassionate,
      selfish, self-organizing
organisms. Frightening, inexorable, fascinating
to the scientist in you!

To the telescope
vanishingly small, infinitesimal as the farthest sun
only smaller
smaller by magnitudes of magnitudes of ten
and incinerated in a nanosecond. Gone
from the movie (photographs the contents of which move
for the naked eye).
I cannot help what I do or hope.

Anyway, it's a love story
or science project, socio-political documentary. An essay.
An essay about how it is actually impossible to say what you mean
but it is possible with a lifetime of meditation and study to shut up
and know what you meant.

Now I'm deaf.
I can see Cameron Diaz but not hear her.
The guy, the herpetologist, at first colorless turns out to be
colorful as a bird or snake!
He knows a lot about snakes, and birds! Not only how they mate
but what they eat
(amateur botanist)
where they rest
what they do with their pain. Do they get depressed?
Can they have guests?
How do they judiciously employ violence to organize and defend
the nest.

The international collective remains insufficiently organized
resulting in violence and threats of violence that interrupt
commerce, procreation (love) and the pursuit of happiness (Cameron
      Diaz)
at least for certain populations, sometimes.
Otherwise, most men, most times, live in peace excepting
flood or fire God or man may
choose to impose.
I lay in my bed and listen naked.
Have a good day (Diaz).
The goddess does not exist, except as bone.

Around this time (July)
the queen yellow jacket (redcoat) searches
blind and deaf
for a ledge or cavity to build a city of her descendants
safe, that they can defend.
Most cities
prosper, undisturbed
and sleeping peacefully, overwinter. We, however,
remain active, Cameron Diaz makes winter movies or
love stories in South America, and I
delight to imagine her herpetologist. Or one who
discovers the sun
around which a habitable, understandable, compatible
orb orbs. Or
maybe the movie's about the revolution, soldiers dying defending
this dictator or that dreamer
and the movie completely failing, not even trying, to explain how
the sons and daughters of the dying soldiers (miners) feel
fishing alone, hunting for wisdom, thereafter.
Sure, these men chose violence, not Cameron Diaz, and were not
farmers, botanists or herpetologists
their tools could have been and should have been the telescope or
      microscope
but are there enough microscopes and telescopes to go around
and did we not (taxpayers, moviegoers) encourage them to
defend Cameron Diaz?

Man's world is insufficiently organized to preclude violence
in allocating resources (Cameron Diaz).
When we invade Iraq
to defend our allies and interests
with rockets and rocket throwers, Rockettes and Cameron Diaz
each man (each Diaz) must make his
own individual choice
whether this war
is worth fighting for or the next or the worst.
Go to jail, go directly to waterboard, at the hands of
your local police, chamber of commerce.
Learn how to walk the desert and the universe.
The names of rocks and planets,
that being the only answer to the hyperorganization that is a cancer on
      our insufficient organization.

I was reading Foreign Affairs
The Case Against the West by Kishore Mabubami (Cameron Diaz).
How can I relinquish my privileged position
sit still, lie naked
until what constitutes consent of the governed and non-violent change,
      Cameron Diaz,
to her herpetologist
is known.

I got out of bed with a bit of uneasiness,
I decided that it's been too long since I've written.. I think the last time I did was last week
...or the week before ?
I looked at the date, and make me twitch,
Made a tear, or two fall
Made my heart break in a few more pieces.
DID YOU KNOW THAT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE WE MET ? Figuratively that is ..
DID YOU KNOW, that you've broken me into minute pieces ??
Pieces unable to be detected by microscopes ??
Pieces that can't be felt or touched with your naked hand?
DID YOU KNOW ?
No you don't.
You've been too busy missing her every second, like you did with me.
Been too busy upset with her, like you were with me.
Been too busy telling her how much you like her like you did with me.
HECK, YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY WORSHIPPING HER ANGELIC FACE, LIKE YOU DID WITH ME !
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY BEGGING HER, TO SEE HER FULL BODY, LIKE YOU DID WITH ME !
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY telling her of your childhood, and how you missed your dad
..too busy telling her how suicidal you were, and how placed a gun to your head.
And you're probably too busy, telling her of me.
YOU'VE BEEN TOO BUSY, SITTING, FORMULATING THE LIES YOU'LL TELL ME NEXT, AS TO WHY YOU'VE HAD NO TIME FOR ME : "I was helping my mom with the Christmas tree" "Someone was using my phone" "Sorry I was sleeping" - (WAIT DIDN'T YOU SPEND NIGHTS UP WITH ME TELLING ME YOU HAVE INSOMNIA ? ) "Sorry I was out" "Sorry I was on a call" . AND I DON'T CARE IF THEY'RE TRUE, I DON'T CARE IF I'M EMOTIONAL BUT THAT'S TOO MUCH 'I'M SORRYS' . TOO MUCH EXCUSES, TOO MUCH LIES.
And I'm sorry that I made a mistake and liked you so much. I'm sorry for letting you taking up my phone space,
With pictures of you that an artist would find hard to formulate.
Sorry you were my screensaver.
Sorry I told my sister about you ..yeah I told her how adorable you were
And I told her you were my ''soon to be boyfriend" ...
And I'm sorry that I pushed another into the fire because of you
Yeah I'm sorry I pushed him aside.
But karma's a ***** and I knew it would get me, I told you it would AND I TOLD YOU IN THE END I'D BE HURT, and you told me no, and I would be.
Darling being replaced doesn't bother me, it doesn't make my bones crack,
It doesn't make my heart cry ..
It's the mixed signals.
Today you're all flirty with me, tomorrow you're calling me names.
WHY DON'T YOU MAKE UP YOUR MIND ?!
I know you no longer need be, and to be honest you never did,
So be honest with me and let me leave you alone ??

I'm also sorry for listening to your lies.
I should've known though, by the signs you gave,
"Let's be friends with benefits?"
FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS WHEN I WAS HOPING WE'D GO SOMEWHERE ?? F.W.B, WHEN I WAS HOPING WE'D BE TOGETHER ONE DAY ? F.W.B, WHEN YOU SAID YOU LIKED ME MORE THAN YOU SHOULD'VE ??
Special to be used then thrown aside ?
What did you want ? A piece of me ?
I should've have know when you said I was special, after I said you were my "soon to be boyfriend "
And I'm sorry you'll never get to see this.
But I hope you suffer from your mistakes
And rot in the arms of any other you come across,
Because no one will EVER adore you like I DID.

Write lyrics like spreadsheets with number crunching
Calculate the isotopes
numerical accuracy in the vein of vain attempts to overcome
the show off tendencies of artist who exhibit flow to illicit
concern about existence beyond what they can see of pedagogical poetry
more concerned with numbers and patterns
who gives a **** what the stress is on the vowel in the third stanza  
lyrically despondent personal correspondents for a publication that says
more about what you know than what you feel
and who you are
computer says no, statistically impossible, synaptic haiku
five seven five
musical ronin
go go gadget of talent
extend-o-pole and flying nimbus as you train like son-goku
hyperbolic chamber where time is an illusion only to collapse
true Saiyans are warriors from the womb until death and after
over nine thousand and the scanner short circuits
write on the clouds with light so hot that it burns on thought
not contact
no constants, just variables, electron microscopes to try and hear the angels sing.
Large Hadrons small dreams, no love, just roman numerals
XIV, ***, Blood transfusions in the realm of “O Positive” and you're just a pessimist, negative Nancy at the end of evolution
Flesh and bone as a tent in your double helix of a genome,
flesh like clay in the hands of some master
but you know no master
no nations, under no gods but Darwin
all 23 chromosome pairs making 46 parts of your brain
screaming neurons fire
WRITE
WHAT
YOU
ARE
If you should so choose as to end not with a bang but a whimper
then your memory is forfeit
contribute in some meaningful semblance of sarcasm and sinsethesia with anesthetic medications of pop remedies and voided memories
of sinthesisia
Smell the colours and taste the sounds of pen on paper
when you never own a pen or a pad
just a bright white rectangle you stare at for hours on end
No thoughts just Digg and Reddit
your only contributions a thumbs up or a red thumbs down
like buttons
but no dislike, because if you've got nothing nice to say
then say nothing
unless you're outrage and full of spite
and morose
at the state of human nature
beauty and song thrown out in an effort to leave nobody behind
and so we have a generation coming in
at the age of 5, who are told new math
new science
wrote memorization of equations
no thought process, no argument about relation
theory of relativity, the genious mind just numbers and letters on a page with squiggles and lines that don't have to mean anything more than they mean on the book
we have a generation with no lust, no hope
Do they dream in black and white?
do they dream at all?
is the consequence of IQ tests and graded paper intelligence
the thirst for knowledge and creativity?
WE HAVE TO SCREAM
at the injustice
Burn it to the bricks and ashes
we hurl through the windows
in the streets and in the parks
car radios and clock towers sold
for cheap homemade *****
dance around the fire like the wild things are
LET THE WILD RUMPUS BEGIN
but then we're still hollow
no happy medium, just excess
in the pursuit of Dionysus, trepination,
demon possession is illegal in the eyes of the police and federal law
spread your legs and lean against the car
as they frisk you and plant the seed
of doubt
in the cuffs of your jeans
You have the right to remain silent
but I hope you don't
refuse
question
resist

185

“Faith” is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.

You want to judge the book;
Or you are curious and keen.
Gibingly you ask about microbes.
With Naked eyes unseen.

Fourteen hundred is the age.
Yet you can scratch your head.
I know it is not going to help.
Because you're alive yet dead.

You think you're very literate.
Yes it speaks about microbes. *
But are you literate enough?
Then there were no microscopes.

They discover and boastfully talk.
As if they've created, never they stop.
Compare themselves with God.
But their origins are in ***** drop.

I've looked at star filled skies
At life in microscopes
I've stared at hills and oceans
To find connectivity
But I have found
I see You clearest
Not looking past this skin
For You're the best in me
When I see gentleness
Like giving of myself
Being kind to others
Helping weaker ones I see
Caring for older beings
Showing youth the paths
And scorning selfishness
I see that love must be
His modus operandi
That is what I recognize
When everything is said and done
He is the grains on sandy beaches
He is the fish beneath the sea
He is the galaxy afar
The very tiny microbe
Everything I see
And finally
Whatever else
God is love in me

The Elder Supremes are staggering
Under the Pillar of Superposition—

They who stream emotionless minds, streaming
    Scripture as alcohol to tea-head Kneelers, praying
        The elixir of Olympus isn’t turpentine; tarnishing
            The great, drear light of child-minds like onions in the Sun
Molding through its layers; the taste extinguished—No poetry Survives!
    They who crackle doom over whitened rooms
        Filled with the white coats of Nature’s secret Heroes—
            The best minds, sagging like iced-over limbs—
Made dim by a false Heavenly connection.
    Oh! They deprived the gears of Grandfather Night,
        And deemed Him wicked in his flickering sight.
            They who are Hollow, yet still colossal; these spinning Hellions,
This Machinery of Older Skeletons;
    That steams and heats and comes to life for an innocent
        Bottom, with the name that lies in Sin of Archaic Text,
            Vexed, hexed and expressed in all Prisons and War—
Prisons and War reverberate like bad music in the name of a doG;
    A name the Sun once owned and cast below to a dimmer Star,
        It billowed and screamed:  Keep it in the ******* Church!

Now it comes to Damning the Beast:
“Get thee behind me Savior, for the Microscope is over Prayer.”

Superhero heavyweights
Alter ego misfits
Scandalous fall from grace
Public pain and private parties
Golden idol ego trips
Wrath of God
Not wrath of Kahn
Read a book
Take a look around
Stop flying high
Indestructible
Too messed up to see
The damage done
Idolaters be dammed
First commandment
Godless society
Superhero wannabes
Glory and the fame
Microscopes
Expand the putrid that make-up cannot mask
Everybody’s business
Do as you say not as you do
Becomes, monkey see monkey do
Flying high without a net
Newbies falling from the sky
That is not empowerment
Luck is not strategy
And life is not a game
Find importance
Both within and without
Then dawn your cape
And fly away
To help your fellow man
Not just your selfish greed

momentary tangibility, momentously touchable.
voluptuous experience, an explosion of love
or *****.
no rhyme nor reason.
stuck behind glass doors,eternally hoping for
more more more.
locked in and passed around.
visible from hot air balloons, indecipherable under microscopes.
morse code, even to myself.
im on this red painted shelf.
of course, red, but still unread.

The children all had boxes

With all the things they’d learn to do

When they heard the bell, away with one

And out another for something new



Each box had printed fabrics:

One with numbers, one with notes,

One with maps and little flags,

One with microscopes…



One day, just by accident

Someone knocked the boxes on the floor

The fabrics scattered everywhere

What piece went where, we weren’t sure



But it didn’t take to long to see

What needed to be done

We grabbed some scissors, cut them up

And weaved them into one



Turns out we didn’t need the boxes

They took up too much space

Now we had a lovely quilt

With all the fabrics we had laced



Our quilt now hangs upon the wall

Its much more pleasing to the eye

Instead of hiding in those boxes

We can see them all the time

What?

What is that you say?

All the roads are one now?

Old children? Paradox?

I think so but then   those are the most fun of all

The spaced out interplay inside of intersections

That wind to the mountain floor and up again to volcanic shores

Cloud forests , cloud atlas , clouds messengers of the dawns ,

I hear a storm is coming , didn’t we say this before?

The dawn is already upon us , we think we’re waiting , we’ve been playing for months

Well hidden , well hidden , we don’t got no tracking devices but the markers of time that are the rising of the sun and the falling of the stars from space swirls near and far

Closer than the nearest galaxy but not as far as Sirius B

With wings that fly by night , the tips burn orange , the shades turn a musky blue , dipping into the silver water the enclosed shoulders

Harbor secrets yet,

Until we meet again my fair friend , again is right now

The full stop is redundant as there never is a full stop , you don’t have to try to decipher what I’m insinuating with my punctuation , there is no deeper meaning to it apart from my keyboard broke

But, then I decided that it could mean something more , that is the core

Nothing ever starts with a meaning we just add more! There is no meaning to this life , but there is a quest, no not a test but a quest



Mine I figured is in my smile  , my ability to weave together the nonsense into sense by calling the sense nonsense and serving the ball back over the net to sense who bats it back with a sharp backhand to nonsense who hits way out to the field beyond, hitting meaning on the head, poor meaning , meaning to have a quiet  nap under the plum tree , sorry! Screams nonsense or was it sense?



Either way , the quest has lead me here , the ultimate quest to make sense out of the nonsense that is my self

Hmmm self , hmmm self, hmm; well it was always going to be self on the highest  shelf  next to the cookie jar,

Oops can’t keep my hands out of the mess that we call blessed or taboo



Lets meander down that avenue for a while and taste the delights of forbidden fruit

Not a melon or a dragon fruit , nor is it a kiwi , infact I shouldn’t think it’s a fruit at all

Far too litteral although they are good for your body

How about for the mind , I feel like my body functions better without the excessive consumption of meat and milk does make me ****

Oops toilet talk , is that rude? I never got that, we all burp and **** and belch and **** and **** and flake off dead skin cells all day long but you never hear anyone complian “ excuse me Jones, but I did just inhale your dead skin cell” well silly moo , you’ve just inhaled jones’s and about everything you can’t see with your very eyes in that last lungfull



So you see, to me why waste time on silly buggers like swear words, change the meaning of them if it offends you so , who said that all the words have to stay the same? Really are we that stagnant ? didn’t some dude shakespere invent a ton of new sayings and no one questioned him! In fact we still use his words now, I’m sure they all thought he was bonkers, but then I guess the queen said it was cool



Hmm , queen bee , not unlike the popular kids at an out lawed place called school , dictating her orders through her minions – my definition of minions : cute slaves



The same story played out over and over well I wonder why , if we only see what others like and refuse to explore the unknown in our own right? Perhaps we just didn’t realize there was an option not on the tick list



Can I write like this

wItH aLl mY lEtTeRs FuNkY , is that not still writing ?

what?

What is that you say? What am I talking about? Am I rambling again?

Right

Back to my main point



I really like tea and I really like smiling and I really like laughing until I cry do you?

Here is a funny story:



The 3rd most watched video on a very highly esteemed newspapers website was a  low quality video of a monkey swimming in a pool , this ranked higher than a man being force fed through the nose – this is the kind of thing us humans are apparently really good at

No, not swmming silly,

Torture,

But that’s not the funny part , the funny thing is that one time my friend Paul went bowling and he saw a woman wearing a shell suit, she had a monkey polishing her bowling ***** and when she hit a strike he would clap, he also wore a matching shell suit , safe to say , it was an odd sight



Well maybe you just had to be there



But I like that , I like the ridiculousness we have created

Bowling allies and chicken and chip shops , buses , gallaries , houses , shoes , ice cream , microscopes , bath mats ,  fake ***** for children to **** their fake formula while we steal all the milk from a very much alive conscious mammal who proberbly wanted to give that milk to her baby



Ya’know stuff like that



I like it because it reminds me of what we can create , and the true power each one of us holds, because somebody came up with the idea to make high heels that **** up your back and someone came up with idea of cars that are nice to take drives in with music , someone came up with a portable music player , someone came up with the idea for a train! And then someone else built it !!!!!



I mean , come on! But the best thing I like to marvel at is nature, because no one really came up with nature , nature just kinda happened

That’s the best mystery of them all  an open ended mystery is like a really good open ended question

Dream/wake
dr
  e
   a
    m
wake
suddenly
there's no difference
stand in front of a mirror
stare at your reflection
until nothing
means a thing
repeat your name
are you real?
is this real or
are you
s
  l
   e
    e
     p
       ing
sleeping?
ocean waves of oblivion
crash wash away
coherency
hollow chocolate bunny
mechanical robot toy
"big brother is watching"
Big brother
evil eyes
of microscopes
and lasers
wrap barbed wire around your chest
douse your eyes in chilli sauce
in desperation
to feel something
or anything
failed
sadly
you are
awake.

Have you ever seen a bright eyed
Glowing person
Sober three years
Pull a dime bag out of her purse

It may have been three years
But the person reflected back up at her
From that small mirror
Is not the person in front of you;
It’ll be the same person she was three years ago
It’ll reflects her long forgotten face, but also will be a window into her own personal rock bottom
It is a hotel room key to a tailor made suite in a town she never should have visited
This is not the face she dreamed of growing up to see reflected in her astronaut helmet
Her self-image disappointingly is only eclipsed by passing streetlights
And not the skylines of glitter scattered on the earth’s outline
It would have been a beautiful circumspective background
But she can’t look from aircraft window microscopes now
Now she sits viewing the world through city bus window magnifying glasses
And she worked hard to get here
She earned her urban lab coat and degree from the harsh alleyway lessons
And a life path of two steps forwards one step back
And three here forwards
And a few more back
And really
It’d be a shame to wear out a perfectly good pair of shoes to make this journey all for not

Believe it or not,
there are men who shriek like
banshees at the deathbed of a sickly dog,
and women that remain impenetrable
like the broadsides of an iron ship
at the prospect of loss. Not all
executives wear the silk tie
of haughtiness, but bump shoulders
with the rounded backs of street beggars.
And just as the moon waxes and wanes, organizing
the stars into a symphony of light, so too
do the clouds occasionally close the curtains
on the whole performance.
I am a poet but I do not cry.
I am a man but I do not push nor pull,
throwing around wantonly the weight of the cosmos.
I like to think that each of my billions upon billions
of atoms move as gracefully as swans
under their own microscopes,
forcing each and every onlooker to stare
and pick at their own skin
in a search for uniqueness.

Sitting at a tiny plastic table, between microscopes
and glass bottles of corrosives,
his son lets a mouse he named Ralph crawl up his arms.
Sliding on a lab coat, the father faces his back
toward his son and pulls out subject 402.
It’s his weekend. A quick shot to the heart
is all it takes. He puts it back in the cage.
Watches it expire. Takes it out, again.
A slice of time exposes internal
organs, projecting them to the world.
Look at the heart, swollen red,
those tiny lungs unable to exchange oxygen.
His son spills crackers across the table, sharing with Ralph.
Tissue samples are cut, placed in fragile vials,
labeled and set aside.
Disposes the hollowed corpse.
The boy is hungry, clutching his stomach dramatically.
Eat your crackers.
The boy squeezes the mouse. The mouse
clamps his teeth on him until he is flung from the hand.
Ralph slinks into the background
while the boy cries fat tears, his wound extended.
He is like a man dying of a thousand terrible things.
The man grabs subject 403.
Twisting his uninjured arm around his father’s left leg,
he stains the lab coat with mucus.
Go sit down.
He sniffles, pushes over a stool and climbs to its apex.
Go sit at the table.
He leans into his father’s light.
The broken body with its skin pulled back, pieces of metal
protruding.
It’s Ralph! It’s Ralph!
No it’s not. Go sit down.
It’s Ralph!
He throws himself into the table. Swings his arms.
The vials smash. The microscope crashes.
A scalpel makes contact with the wall.
Subject 403 is catapulted.
To the boy, the body seems to come alive in the air.
But it is motionless on the ground,
Trapped by broken glass.

Next to my son's anger
plate tectonics are nothing
to me. His unhappiness
was caused by me.
His purpose and mine
is to catch photons and
store them in our bones.
Time measures change
which continues without self-doubt.
There is no self there.
Therefore, why care about
my son's anger
or my guilt?

Is it possible as Deutsch
suggests that the changes
a self-aware organism can
applying the scientific method
instantiate are innumerable
compared to those of the sun
or any big bang?
Therefore, one must care
about the harm you've done
or the good you'd do.
As Stevens proved
the essential activity's
to imagine the world
then test it against the breeze.

What good is philosophy
without a confession
I sometimes hit
whenever angry
and can **** given
opportunity and permission.
My knowledge of enduring
seeds and periodic
elements is limited
by my impatience.
If I could stop
circle with a dot
breathing
perhaps then I would
understand myself. But
what is there to know about the self?

Long ago, according to Borges,
Shakespeare imposed
a self-imposed silence
on himself. He knew
what, that perfect acts,
accurate and factual,
actually requiring
microscopes and telescopes
for growing small and going far
take you to the very space a
gentle breeze and ridiculous bird
occupy at the end of the mind
at the end of your life.
"Death initiates a complex process by which the human body
      gradually reverts to dust
but minerals may fill the cracks and voids, bonding the
      hydroxyapatite and allowing the bones to join . . ."
in the happy tectonics
of the earth's plates.

I’m throwing my voice throughout a corridor
With no one on the other end
A space empty and dark filled with my radiance and purpose
I’m here to entertain, my friends
I’m here to guide the tour
Each doorway leads to a lecture hall, a subject to purvey
Each window out is bricked and barred
With damaged curtains, worn by air
Dusty books and creaking floors
No sign you were here
Hourglass and broken microscopes
Scattered all around
Competition from the past
Tests the finest pupil’s skill
Unclear who will succeed

what is it like to
sit
on laundromat tiles
with fish eyes blank
slack jaw
words coming out
"you're too young"
my porcelain skin
isn't china doll thin;
i've felt things inside that rupture
stitching
that morph into a blazing
hot sun because i feel
it's burn in every molecule
thrown under microscopes and watching
the chemical reaction of knowing
you're in love and being in love and always wanting love
with the one person who gives you love
as amebas you can't
measure the age
"oh yes it's love, no
doubt about that"
scientifically proven.
but when you add a
slight skeleton
skin with cuts and scars
from off balanced racing on concrete
with feet that feel every
material of every terrain
and wide eyes that smile
because
life can truly be beautiful.
when you add all that-
love somehow becomes less potent
as if the inner
bonds of feeling
are taken less
seriously.
tell me this;
my lips curve around his name
and my voice box softens
and slows,
dragging out letters
like they hold a story in each one
and to me they always will
should that change with age, should it lessen?
my heart pumps in the same rhythm that
it will 20 years from now.
love has no age
it exists in timeless capacities
and does not know numbers,
it will not see them
it sees two hands
holding one another
gently like
sacred white doves
alighting on aspen
branches
with roots that bury in deep-
but bark as tender
as newborn babies

"Faith" us a fine invention
When Gentleman can see-
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.

Emily Dickinson.

Pardon me in my own symphony of madness
A tool of my own sadness, oh boy what a feeling that is
It’s not poor nor is it ****, so I suggest you sit right back and enjoy
For humorous attempts are only to take joy, creating pure fun
So here I got the run of the bun, Yeah it surely is nice to live
Lessons of the positive, dropping on the mind like intellect
I hear ye, dearly elect….Without any rhyme or reason
The one who may create the least treason…Holding onto your seats
Cashing in on all your receipts, Tickets of winning numbers
No longer living by the warm timbers, Refreshing to say the least
Some may call it very beast…Of me to rummage through moods
Many have given their perfect attitudes, Learn then let live…Breathe
A jewel encrusted knife kept within its sheathe, I promise you’ll never go cold
The tale can be told, in many ways
Spread out over many days, although why tend to boredom
Leading us not into whoredom, deliver us our daily bread
Thy concrete kingdom come along with street cred, as heaven’s mouth is open
At last it becomes very Zen, Living to learn
Rights under a government mule are hard to earn, no sense taking them for granted
Always being doubted, keeping a watchful eye
The lurker leans toward using the skills of a spy
Soon our story will be drawn to an end
Appending my wrongs as my rights come to a bend
Rendering my sins under microscopes as they unbend
Entering the light, being dunked in pools as I ascend

All choked up inside because
                             there is so much I never say, wanting
                                                    to share everything and grow up
           way too fast, that's not how
                           things work around here, not
               now under microscopes

                                  I love you to the point of
  not breathing, a precaution to
     ensure such radical notions remain where they
       are, but today you

                                           told me the greatest thing you could
                                               ever have brought to my ears, that you
                                                             ­          recognize
                                                        the simple truth, the difference, this
                                                wonderful knowledge you and I have of each
                                                 other, something others chase for so much
                                                            time­, and yes we have some of
that loosely-defined handhold on
reality, the ticking, but
                                           I need you to know, I
                                                               ­         
still cannot find words.