Many folks
wouldn't read
a poem
unless you put
a gun
to their heads.

I am that gun;
these words
are my bullets;
exactly
those people,
my target
of choice.
  - mce

I must have something to joke about. Like being a swampy mermaid. I'd **** to be a sexless myth, hermit in the wetlands, combing my hair with the delicate ribcage of a racoon. Still, every now and then the boyfriend/bear would come find me and ******* onto my tail. What wild certainty in that -

I propose the whole world
can be explained by
just eight letters.

A. B.
C. D.

The beginning
of the alphabet.
Four letters to explain
all of humanity.
The characters are the
representatives of Time and
space. Mere parts in the
sum of the whole.
Every era known to mankind is
encapsulated in
the four letters at the
beginning of it all.

T.
I.
M.
E.

Time Emits off our fingertips.
Refracting like light to make
incandescent rainbows
with a cloud at one end
and a *** of gold
at the other.
Seeing the
rainbow is the
promise that reminds
me we are given
just a fragment of
of Time to spend;
We are just one coin
in the *** of life’s
circumstances.

E.
M.
I.
T.

The combination of
letters almost
reminds me of a
childhood fantasy.
Because once upon a
Time I dreamed dreams,
and those dreams led
me to Harvard or
Yale or to MIT.
But the dreams died out
and the refracted
rainbow-***-of-gold delusion
gave way to
pure and un-adultered.
black and white.
Logic.

EMIT equals TIME
re-arranged.

Two words with
completely different
meanings. Yet childhood
is the thread that
connects all the run-away
dots together.

And then we’re back to the
beginning. Just those same
four letters,
once again.

A. B. C. D.
equals
B.C.—A.D.
re-arranged.

B.C.—A.D.
Equals
T. I. M. E.

Proof that this is
the over-arching
story of it all.
This is the History of
our people.

In the Beginning, God touched the world;
not Logos but the embrace of tactility.
God pressed himself into creation, every
animal, vegetable, and mineral imbued with
the exalted power of consecrated touch,
leaving marks that remain for us to discover
like marvelous pieces of a sacred crossword puzzle.
A celestial charter, holy Magick, necessary theology.
But seeing is difficult and knowledge is demanding.
We are shattered, splintered, fractured lenses,
mirror fragments of  broken insight.
Rational and credulous, we see only what we want.
To read God's fingerprints we must first of all burn,
burn away the human barriers of debate and common sense.
To meet the transcendent requires clear-headed madness.
Unshackle yourself from argument and logic,
the Magick focuses into a massive corona of power.
Dross and gold separate when touched by that flame
and only the purest, precious metal remains.
You must connect directly to the mystical
to access such bold, terrifying, inhuman force:
only stolen fire or knowledge contains this power
and that theft demands sacrifice of great pain.
But with them you can meet angels personally,
discover the Soul's hidden treasure horde,
speak with corpses, become animals and plants.
No longer chained by causality, you fly free,
in danger of igniting and dying of gladness.
Only walk through the fire and reclaim your birthright:
to see God's imprimatur on every earthly object
and to know that fingerprint is set upon you too.

  ~mce

No one has
ever given me
anything greater
than time, light
and silence.

Time to work.
Light to see.
Silence to think.

What could mean
more than these?

   ~mce

It is
a long day
since
last night.

  ~mce