Physics and Philosophy go hand in hand,
I have to say.
One without the other is a hollow, empty shell.
But every now and then, you'll find someone
Who says they're two different things.
And they are.
They're completely different.
But one without the other is an empty, dry shell.

Every time you look at a ray of sunshine, you're looking back in time.
Time is distance,
Time is relative.
This is what Physics will tell you.
But Philosophy might say,
Time is not a fixed thing,
It's so unfixed we can control and warp it
With our minds.

We can crack the universe open and empty it out into
A sparkly pile of planets and stars with Philosophy,
And use Physics to make sure that
None of our stars
Break.

"So, you just keep bleeding?"
"Yep."
"And you just don't stop?"
"Nope."
"Well, I sure am sorry about that."
"Betch'you are."
"Really. I am. But I have to go."

And with that, she left me
The water running
Getting colder and colder until
A glacial layer of cold breath
And a thick film of icy memories
Enveloped me
And washed down the drain
Along with the inky
Red of my open veins

I have a home,
It is my safe place and my refuge
Where truth lives freely
And where trust is currency

It is the table
Where meals are shared
With extra servings of joy
And washed down with laughter

Located in a place called love
Where it never rains
And though it can be cloudy at times
The sun shines through in the end

And music plays there
In the form of conversations
And silly jokes
That makes me smile often

So yes, I have a home,
Not because I bought a building
Of wood and bricks and mortar
But because I married a friend.

Under the tree
Under the shade
I sat me down and wrote my poem
In the heat of noontide
The braze of summer
Reminiscence of my trials

Under the tree
Under the shade
I stood and sat
Stood and walked around
Aimlessly in heaviness
Wondering how, why and what for

Under the tree
Under the shade
I sat with my pen
And wrote my song immortal
Recounting my quondam thralldom
The genesis of my exodus
The Numbering of my lapidation
The Levitical ministry of providence
The Deuteronomic prospects of victoire
The Joshua-like expeditions and vigils
That brought triumph on enemy
And lead my feet to Canaan

I sketched a faceless man today
I put more details in his hands than I ever could in his eyes

I drew a faceless woman today
forward facing
I put more details on the muscles of her back
than I ever could her nose

I painted a faceless child today
I put more details on his body
than I ever could his lips

I painted faceless beings today
all hollowed out alone
my art teacher looked at me like i was a little disturbed
I could not explain to him that the hollow of her cheekbone
will have more meaning
than the color of her eyes
or the voluptuousness of her lips
and that the strain in her shoulders
will show
and that man will have more meaning in the creases
of his palms
than I could ever put on the lines of his face
And all I could think of was
How that faceless woman had a **** good
***

& There he was,
everybody's fool
in mid April.

Half-way to May.
Caught in a Day-dream.
Dreaming of the porch
his baby basket
should have been dumped on.

Now,
livin' a life of
love-lost lustful lies.

The dark prince,
is just another servant.
Until the day
his father dies
and the horned/thorn-ed crown
is handed down.

To the next heir
standing in
the 69 blood line.

It's a classic!
An All-American.
Trust fund-****-story.

Staring, a little black cloud.
That spent more time,

sulking
over
sitting

up on the family's thrown.

So he sulked up
until he grew up.

For
he was too foolish,
& tiny
to sit-in or fit-it.

At first, of course.