for you I would do anything
anywhere

the others can think what they want
I don't care

if I wrote this for them they would
like it more

but I don't want a dozen hearts
I want yours

it is not a poem
the way you make me feel

it is something stranger
much more sinister
more real

written far beneath the mind
far too deep to be heard

in a dark and secret place
where there are no words

  primal  
feral            
powerful              
passion stripped of prose

we are naked animals
underneath our clothes

no meter or pentameter
no semblance of control

not a poem

but obscene graffiti
scrawled across my soul

be silent

words are dangerous

this is no time to speak


a little censorship

is what keeps everybody free


and if you disagree

then you will see

your star shall fall


say what we tell you to

or don't say anything at all

what are the odds?
just a number
between 0 and 1

how many versions of the Universe
contain our Sun?

how many where the world has oceans?
where humans have legs?

I am here
but my mother had so many other eggs

there would be no America
if there had been no Britain

what are the odds
that we can read
that our language was written?

sometimes it makes me wonder
and sometimes it make me shiver

what is life
outside our slice
our tiny little sliver?

ever multiplying
exponential beyond knowing

reality the fractal
like a tree
forever growing

one in infinity
so astronomically small

what are the odds of any of this
happening at all?

as darkness falls upon the Sun
the day is upside down

the Hunter holds the halo
in his right hand
like a crown


a ring of fire

hidden in the light

a shadow sign


draws down the night
into the sky
so darker stars may shine

we have done inhuman things
every single day
even as we sang our songs
even as we prayed

we have always put up walls
to keep them at bay
and built a system to take
their humanity away

we all know the stories so
why are we so surprised
to see all these inhuman deeds
happen before our eyes

but perhaps the part of this
that scares us most of all
that all of these inhuman things are
human after all

everybody has an other
every other one
everyone pretends to wonder
what their other's done

every other does the things
that you would never do
when you are not yourself at all
the other one
is you

every other day I wonder
which way I should go
but when I become the other
I already know

all the million little things
that we would never do
not knowing that
the other me
has seen
the other you