3 a.m. looking over photos of the kind of person I wished I was. Or maybe it’s the person I was already. There is no person here really; just an abstract collection of atoms and microbes, buzzing around the honeycomb of thoughts. Alcohol pumping in my veins to pervert the relaxed state I found myself in. In times like these mediocrity tries to spin itself as an adventure, and more than not I believe it. These words are poisonous and they take me back another step. Forward and back over the same edge. I’m well aware of how it will end.
Quilts hang, wet on clothesline
More than seven suns pass yet they stay drenched
Hellfire couldn't stop
Storm-clouds in the hearts of an entire species
Brands that singe the arteries of life
From microbes to oceans
Placed on the altar of Earth
Dubious goals led us far away from our homes
Viruses envy our might
8:00 a.m. and
It’s all there
The wishes the dreams
Spread open surfacing to eye level
Slowly taking effect
Penetrating microbes under fluorescent floors
Noises of days gone
Mentioning names scattered charms
The less blind go to the abyss
Faces enamored by shock and drowning
This year taken from under beds
Smoldering and ever present
The thin white lines in rain soaked hands
Drive away from here
We shrank our Earth with the gift of the birds
becoming space cadets spreading stiff wings
out from the air to the weightless expanse,
broadening ourselves beyond our planet.
We have seen our constant overwhelming
insignificance, how small our God
egos are, what microbes we become in
the lens of the universe. A seemingly
inevitability of organic
material marveling at beauty
this glorious conscious cosmos called life.
Looks like we’re packing up our stuff & moving to Mars
to watch our phones become obsolete
& eat freeze dried insects.
They emit less carbon
& we haven’t found
any natives we can steal from
Colonize another globe;
enslave microbes trapped in ice caps
to do our bidding
until we find some better workers,
plant some better traps.
Move out, comrades!
We’ve got planets to infect.
My Brittle Star arms detach in the acidic water of you.
I stir, and try to escape the gaping tremor or your teeth
free of meat.
Roaches crawl inside your skull,
the bone powdered with the years,
all that remains:
You are an Incan Mummy, the sack pulled off,
as rosy-cheeked, young boys stare through misty bus windows
still spackled with flecks of mud from your wet road.
They smile -
their microbes shared unintentionally,
a condomless foam party.
By whom was Kane enabled?
She lived among the crystal lattice
Eyes encapsulated atoms
Shell she shed was greed and dread
Her hair bred lust in Adam
Adam bred sons in her
Cells she shed were slick and heavy
Selves she spread were fake and forced
Sons she had were nemeses
One fell off the deep end.
Her figure raw, emaciated
Starved for the aesthetic
Her photographs were airbrushed
And at her feet there rots
The fruit of knowledge
The microbes are sinning
we let go
we make no sound
just a gentle whisper
as we fall down to the ground
our job is done
another passing summer glory
now our work is in the under storey
we keep our date
with bugs and microbes
and all the little litter critters
feed them in their life of toil
helping to enrich our deep dark nubile soil
when the weather warms
season's storms have passed
our winter's work will bear good fruit
as leaves come out again at last
The wind - it whistles where it wants,
And no one gets to see it.
It tears and teases, throws and taunts
Like you would not believe it.
Space is something that's unseen,
Transparent to the stare.
Invisible to human beings,
Though it is everywhere.
Microbes make a mega march
Right before our eyes,
But we can't see their end or start
Because of their size.
Spirits sprinkle special stuff
So we can see the way,
And though around us all so much,
We never see a face.
The list is long; a lot to learn,
But way too little time.
And for all the things you yearn,
You can't touch them in your mind.