I'm listening to the immense sounds of the sea
amidst the echoes of the past
the sky absorbs moments
I forget the names and shapes of things
in the chaos of passing
standing on the shore
in the absolute loneliness
the waves are taking time
which has left
turning the memories
into emptiness

Hear them sing, the comets
Hung from gravity
Flung among the trees delicately
Reaching for you and me

A congenital rotation of Time
Topographic damage from the rhyme
Of fingered activity, blame and climb
The grist of Humanity; disease, ragtime

We’ll meet  again as the Boatman’s guests
Our clothes wet from the ocean’s crest
The shadows indicating our trip west
From this world my heart I wrest

With age in my body,
but youth on the page

A sword old and rusted,
now tempers with rage

These bones may be brittle,
with feet slow to drill

But fire still burns,
—in my memory and will

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2016)

this is not a poem.*
this is a textbook covered in
scribbles and crossed out versions of
our love.
This is the music festival we met at
only the opening act is the fight that
ended it all.
This is the restaurant we had our
first date at, but the food is the spit up
promises you made that were broken.
This is your house. The house we had our
first kiss, but its empty, without a single
trace of us left behind in the floor boards.
This is you.
This is you telling me you love me
then ******* my best friend.
This is all of the hateful words I wish I could say
This is me still being in love with you
This is you not caring
and me pretending that I dont
This is the beginning
and this is the end.

Humans are foolish,
Strange creatures.
It's easy to say
That we're awfully self-obsessed,
Horribly dressed
To most occasions,
And of the
Sociopathic, apathetic
Persuasion.

But what's more difficult
Is holding ourselves
To a higher standard,
Because if we hold ourselves higher
We must act better.

And it's easy to say you're going to be better,
What's hard is being better.
Doing better.

But I am of the school of thought
That people,
Human or otherwise,
Are generally good
By nature.

Our hearts our kind,
Our souls are pure,
And it isn't until events
And the choices of others
Occur
That we become so very
Vile.

And maybe we aren't a perfect species,
But we're all we've got.

So be better.
Do better.
Despite all recent failures,
And despite all upcoming failures,
There's hope for us yet.

We will all live
to a ripe old age.

If not here,
then probably
over there.

If not over there,

then defiantly
someplace else.

The mind is
everywhere
at once.

Experiences vary.

When I die in one place
the others simply
move on.

We will all live
to a ripe old age.

I think I love you,
And I'm not going to lie,
That absolutely terrifies me.
What do I do?