It is funny to think
That the universe
In its grand complexity,
Its clockwork perfection,
Consists of energy....
Or the lack of it.

What if I told you
That God
Was the sum of all energy
In the universe?

Would you hate me?
Would you read
what ever rule book
You find most agreeable
Or were born under
And redefine your borders?

Or squeeze your eyes
Shut
And squeeze your ledger
tighter
As to make its pages
More real.

Knowing that in the end
Many a good man
Has never been to church
And even more so
Has died under its
Gilded boot.

Do not wait till your dying breath
To realize
That you are the church.
The way,
The stars,
And only a piece of the puzzle
That can only be viewed
As whole
From a dimension
Once removed.
Both small and insignificant
Yet without you

Incomplete

I'm a poem in the back of your notebook,
the one that slipped your mind.
You began writing it with the fiercest of intentions,
but all forgotten once something else caught your attention.
It happens with all things in time.

i am going to tell you a story.
but first, you need to look up—
no, further. further. further.
beyond the ceiling, beyond the
buildings, beyond everything
you know.

eject yourself from your body
and look up
until you can see the stars for
what they are—jewels embedded
in blue velvet, stitched there by
some god’s hand, or orbs of
burning hydrogen
destroying themselves. let’s just
admit it here—we do not know
what they are, the things
we call the stars. does it matter?
they decorate the night. they
sing me lullabies when i cannot
sleep—they will for you, too,
if you promise to listen.

listen to me, too: feel
the universe. feel all the atoms
moving around you, in you, over
you—your hands, the sun, all the
things that have made you hide.
feel them. they are nothing.
feel yourself. you are nothing.
feel the universe. the universe
is nothing. dead or alive, infinite
or creeping towards an ending—

listen to me. stars still implode
when you cry. the earth
does not stop its motion,
the galaxies keep running
further and further away from
us. i know fear, and loneliness,
and the end of the world—and
you do, too. but listen to me.

andromeda does not care that you
throw your voice into the night.
cassiopeia still blinks in the
sky, even when everything you know
on this tiny, wet rock is
breaking itself apart—the universe
will mould all those atoms into
something new. listen to me and
everything will listen to you.

you are part of this existence,
right down to the quarks
that make up your fidgeting fingers
and the electrons that buzz
in your eyes. the night sky
will swallow you up when you
need somewhere to sleep,
if you let it. do not be
afraid. do not be lonely.

you are okay. you are okay. you
are okay because the universe
stands still, with its arms open
for you.

I can't march my ***** boots
To your hanging tree.
The ground opens up
Exploding all over me.
In the blackened soil
I find your decaying bones
Buried beneath the pieces of your hurt.

I can't tear my liquid eyes
From your screaming face.
It's the way I looked
When they walked in to say
That your hands are cold
And the breath dead upon your lips.
My life stopped  with this deadly agony.

I can't forget your laugh
How it wrapped around my soul.
The way our arms
Opened up our hearts
In the quiet, whispered hours
Talking of our dreams.
And all the places we had yet to see.

I can't rewind to before your hopeless state
Or the day you returned
With all your strength cut from your face.
You turned from me
Like I was diseased.
And told of my stupidity:
Loving you is a waste
Because you were the tainted enemy.

I can't forget the pain in your eyes
The world so lost.
All our dreams slowly died.
You walked across the lawn
As I melted down and cried.
Then hung yourself
In a tall tree where you could touch the sky.

I can't return to your hanging tree.
The ground out there
Is waiting to **** me.
But you said "Be great,
Be everything you dream. "
So here I am
Living dreams my heart knows are real.

i'd rather be as cold and manipulative
and a calculator of all sorts
like augustus,
than innocently violent and equally
deluded as such violence deem
equal a nero's "competent" exercise
of it: to encapsulate all masculinity,
rid the demand of scientific inquiry
with blinding d.n.a. and testosterone
structures on the page...
that **** will not float like a ship
on the sea of blood i'll pour into the
breaths walking near Galilee
when your visibility changes from
pen and microscope to sword and telescope
to see eager mars ask permission
of jupiter to transverse via earth too reach venus,
and likewise venus, to transverse toward
mars via earth, hopeful to bring the sun's
illumination with mercury, but the illuminating
message being left on the moon, enters
mars' domain with ignorance, and so
mars likewise retorts to his former act of warring,
and venus in turn with promise of the sun's message
leaves all illumination on earth's moon and
speaks to mars the shadowy truth, rather than:
a. said b. said c. was born (c. being the god
of appeasement, the best we had was crucified,
we need to look elsewhere, because this so called
god of appeasement turned out to be narcissus
in disguise, russian / greek orthodox iconoclasm).