quiet night broken
by the triumph of an owl
mouse house in mourning

Convoluted emanations of the intellect
Proliferating pillars of translucent light
Spheres of thought orbiting infinitude
Ascending past the perception of time
Colliding the past, present and future
Creating the void that is imperceptible
To arrange the very fabric of existence

green frog serenade
love a truly splendid song
if you know the words

a wind must blow
at least
in extreme heat is a cooler

an answer should be given
at least
it is distributes worries

there should be a law
ar least
solves all of the problems

alove must love
at least
in fairy tales,even the non-

write must a poem
at least
located in the hearts

I miss you. I'm thinking about you a lot today. I guess I always think about you around holidays and festivities. I wish you were here. It's been a year and one month, and life still doesn't make sense without you. All Is Vanity was your last album as far as I know, and it makes me so sad to think that you'll never come out with anything again. I wish I could pluck you from heaven just so I could hear you sing again. I've been practicing on making my vocal range as good as yours. You had a voice like honey, but also a voice that could move mountains. Do you remember thinking how your email was broken because you'd refresh it, but there were a hundred more emails to look at? And it was actually just because people kept viewing and commenting on your video? I thought that was the funniest thing. You were so freaked out, and it's funny because you never actually get scared of anything. Except spiders. You hated spiders.... I really miss you, Christina. I hope you're watching Team Grimmie. I hope you're looking out for Marcus and making sure he knows that it wasn't his fault. He beats himself up for not being able to save your life. Please make sure he knows you're okay. I love you, Christina.

•<>•
the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit

                                          July 4th, 2017
                                                •<>•

"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace