i would call it
magical
but nothing
tricked my
eye
it was all expected but
came unexpectedly
drinking
black
coffee
under conversations
about craters
vast lands and
museums
explaining the
Internet wifi and
logins
to an aerospace
engineer
(we were stuck
in a snowglobe)
we’ve got to think
a million years
in advance.
~ok.
and we never
know when
Yellow Stone
will blow.
~ok.

he’s explaining
the needs
the elements
the equations
all tied
through
Einstein’s theory
of relativity
and i ask
algebra plus
chemistry equals
physics?
yes.
ok. now. you see
-he states
the fission
leaves a proton
out which
creates x y z
energy
to get to
the maximum
capacity (80-85%)
of light
speed.
(we’ll never
achieve 100%
because e=mc
squared tells
us we can’t)
~ok.

now the reason
why kids these
days must listen.
according to these
elementary calculations
we need frozen fertilized eggs.
~ok.

now listen.
the closest star
system that we
can escape to (Centauri)
is 4.37 light years
from here. and now,
at 25 years to
complete a
light year,
we’re looking at
109.25 years
to get there
(ponder). that’s more than a century.
~you see.
we have to
act now.
and
this
is why
i’m telling
you.

then i read,
the sands of
present time
are running
from under our
feet. Brion Gysin
told me, it’s
the
Great
Conundrum
(colon):
“What are we
here for (question
mark)? is all
that ever held
us here in the
first place
(statement).
F • E • A • R
the answer
to the riddle
of the Ages
has actually been
out on the street
since the first
step in space.

mike and i
staring at Pete
thinking of Vic
listening to Brion
simultaneously
(em dash)——
who runs may read
but few people
run fast enough.
again,
“What are we
here for?”
does the great
metaphysical
nut
revolve around
that?
then he explains…
“i’ll crack it for you, right
now.”
ok.
what are we
here for?
we are here
to go
(pause). and so I went.
—————–
running
as fast as
i could to
books, web pages,
the library,
my kids, Vince,
my clients, my
wife
¡we must do
something! that
no one
will ever
see
nor
know
about!

and not one
listened.

growing up every
thing was late
parents waited
until thirty-two
to adopt the infant
with the big blue eyes
starring at them
from then on
it seems we were
always
late

leaving our excuses
in the offering plate
or even earlier in
the holy water
it didn’t bother them
they were used to
it as they left
excuses in their
footprints
on the way to
school in the
parking lot
at soccer
practice it

was just normal
thought nothing
of it as they bought
our christmas tree
on christmas eve’s
eve getting rid of it
in exchange for when
four-leaf clovers
came good day easter
savior april fools

we were late again.
but then
again
it’s only time.

nowadays adulthood
everything seems
earlier happening
before it should
got pregnant before
marriage had to install
a dvd in the van due
to us arriving earlier
than planned always
there to help set up
help out clothes
still damp from the
dryer premature
warnings (bzzz)

putting our excuses
in times doubts realities
were the future holding
a late past whipped in
the principles office
tardy slip-fearing
b.y.o.b. but, the
party was there
and the bathrooms
weren’t even cleaned
we get

our christmas tree
while we still have
left-over turkey for
Christ’s birthday new
years resolutions already
made before we
unwrap gifts the
only one out of our
friends with kids
and responsibilities
no fooling we
always get
the worm

we’re always early.
but then
again
it’s only time.

there’s a pack of cigarettes in my trunk if you need
one.
marlboro ultra light menthols no joke they never see
fun.
well-versed in your stress too much to handle it all at
your
very very greatest.

you’re only eight.

and you needn’t be crying in bed next to me this
late.
daddy gets anxious too
and i get by (daily)
by
knowing

that there’s a pack of **** in the
trunk.

but knowing my necessities. i won’t have
one.

because they’re
stale.

just like my stress
and
anxiety

they are
almost always
in poor
taste.

i met jesus today.
he didn’t care what
it said on his sweatshirt
the brand. the design.
it was in english.

we looked each other
in the eyes after a sweaty
game of soccer on the
dirt field with a size 4 ball.

and called each other
mentirosa for adding points
to our scores that weren’t
really made. beaded black eyes.

didn’t need anything i was
used to. didn’t want anything that
wasn’t there. ensenada breeze.
mi maestro en español.

i, his teacher of english.
jesus and i bonded for
at least 4 hours. as
the ten-year-old
gave a ‘don’t go’
look but with a
confident
expectation
that
i

would beg to
come back.

yes,
you’re the
man, not
you
da man,
bro
like a salute
high-five
good-deed
just accomplished
something worth
congratulations.
you’re the
man,
as in
make every
one feel safe
head of the house
take out the
trash, go
to the water
well, put the
clothes in
the dryer
in the middle of
the night, be
sure the
garage is closed,
stove off, front
door locked
duties of
being
the man
yes,
i am the
man.

the classic. defines his essence.
has class but wears slip-on airwalks with a corduroy finish.
he is the un-official fragrance of California.

the blend. defines his unique musk.
creates his own signature scent. the aroma of lust.
he’s there. but not in the center.

the freshest. defines his presence.
casually sensual, yet professionally down-to-business.
his look. that stare. hearts he hypnotizes.

the drift. defines his confidence.
distinctively driven. to be assertive, yet ever so cleverly subtle.
she loves it. he knows the ingredients.

the scent. citrus and verbena.
‘herbal’ with a dry-down of jasmine and thyme.
bound to a hint of petuna’s hide.

the content. 12% oil blend for a compelling long last.
that won’t overpower the girl who’s time is spent basking
in another place. the great lakes.

the dirt. front row parking.
richness of the earth. fresh sea. warm sun.
acqua di gio. gendarme.

just call me
easy b
easy does it.
i’m easy like
dot dot dot
(ditching church on a)
sunday morning
head to the ocean
no sun, west coast
BK Joe, morning roast
exposed toes massaged
by millions of miniature rocks.
no hard place
just soft, safe,
in touch with creation
as i listen to nothing
but creation
itself.
don’t make this
difficult.