More the I drink,
The less you do,

So Death is walking with you,
And walking with you,
All alone,

The hate you breed is made for one,
And the drink you took was made for fun, So why is it,
you are alone?

Two hearts or three,
The more the strength,
Two tongues at least,
Should be the length,

The blood it needs to be pure red,
The worse it is to use the dead,
Don’t fail to use the ***** flail,
With rust and mold and hair assailed,

Then spit on dirt and churn the mesh,
For bone will rot like all the rest.
And death will take with curse and sail
And whisk you off to your own hell,

This curse is made with hate and power,
With all four corners,
And angels power,

Don’t doubt the strength,
Of birth and death,

The first and last,
Will be your breath.

The angry tortured Screech of a long-awaited shot of fernet.
It was filled with chatter.
It was never good enough.
It was Salesforce lingo.

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been an artist since birth
but clearly not genetically.
My mother was a dentist’s apprentice,
while I was in the womb.
My father was a quirky astrophysicist
and still amidst the devils,
he is yet to find himself.  
I on the other hand make sandwiches.
I make sandwiches,
I take photos,
and I write the things that I sense
or that I think I know.
Very simple.

I have never been one to understand the American dream, but I do respect my need for it.
I knew the idealistic trend of the Internet very well,
as I was raised in Silicon Valley,
but the phrase “From rags to riches”
never really penetrated my questioning soul.
--------------
Instead,
I found that the world was my oyster
and I gregariously lived my life in the pursuit
of one-dollar oysters.
I have watched the seasons change.
I have known the plight of love
and I’m even wise enough
to lead my heart by it.
Elisa would tell you.
--------------
I have gawked at knobby shadows
falling on a wall traced out by a winter tree
and then been entranced by the odds
that I might be the one
who sought out that beauty
having been there to see it too.
But more so,
I have seen births.

I have seen the vibrancy from which life unfolds.
And I have seen the clenches of deaths fingers
wrap around the neck
of my most honored and beloved people.
I’ve seen beautiful cities fall prey to oversaturation,
I’ve watched the crashing waves
of the Pacific Ocean **** in pollution,
I’ve seen fires blaze through
the mountain sides of Santa Barbara,
and I’ve watched the shoals bats that fly
at the twilight summons from underneath bowels
of South Congress Bridge,
which is never bad.

I’ve made friends,
and I have made enemies
both of which I love.
I have been sick
then been healthy
and respect the values of their lessons.
Some of the other things I’ve seen
I’ll admit are unimportant.
--------------
But I still watch the trickling patterns of rainfall
and ponder at their stories.
I still squint at the gleam of the ocean
and beg it to tell me its origins.
I will always gaze at the sky
and I ask for a gust that might make the hairs
of my arm tingle with delight,
or nostalgic sorrow,
or anything at all.

I’ve questioned everything but what my mother told me.
Not until I turned eighteen, did I start that.
I’ve built batteries out of vinegar, aspirin, pennies
and copper wire.
I charge the insight of my peers
by poking and prodding.
I can braid hair,
I can hop scotch,
I can play the juice harp.
I fight for the underdog.
I fight for the tormented.
I speak for the scolded,
the hated,
the sad,
the abused,
the forgotten,
the forsaken,
the foolish,
the sinning,
the begging,
the beaten,
the overworked,
the shy,
the lost,
the hungry,
the bilious,
the old,
the gruesome
and the dead.

I feast on alcohol
where there is no other sustenance.
The rhythm of chagrin bounces in my chest,
as a drum would beat
in a symphony of regret.  
But I strive on
as if it was a sacrifice to the holy aliens
that made the Maya sacrifice too.
This is my blood.
It gushes from my blue veins
as I apperceive the meaning of that throbbing pulse.

I know the consequence
of the truth behind our movement.

A world founded on humanity,
imperfect and failing at all.
Life in this universe must be special.
It’s the stardust in our physical,
human elements that makes this magic true.
We ooze with the likeness of nothing else.
Our ancestors welled up with stardust
and DNA from somewhere else.
Our sweat, made up of passing galaxies,
dripping tears of organic thought
into the trickling river of time.
That alone must be something
to capture an imagination.

The crucible was a battle
fought by two sinners
both likely to sell the other out
or to shoot one another.
One wore a necklace
of tight inlaid shininess and red.
It was laced with a satin bow
and imbedded with an insignificant little ruby
tied around her neck,
her lovely ringlets hid in the sunshine.
She knew her life was sacred.
Mostly she was right,
but christened in her own right,
it was never suggested to her
that there was any other way around.
The darker side was originally ambivalent
to the nature
of the afflicted golden ringlets.
Thrashing and fighting it,
he, the darkness,
was finally struck with love.
The ambivalent subsided beneath
the imaginary plinth he prayed at,
and there he prayed.
Retorted only through silence as most gods do,
God responded.
Each time the ambivalent shook
and chattered his teeth
as his fears were becoming
all so real.
Waiting to hear a sound
And nothing was there.
He understood the emptiness.
He was truly suffering,
but ultimately obliged to the goodness
of every single perfect ringlet
that made up the woman’s hair.
He knew the repercussions
of going on in other fashions,
and chose instead to end it there
before he had her locked in all their passions.

Deceptions finest monologue
was that sorrowful speech that you let yourself utter
the night before last.
I let our identities spiral about the universe
and for a few moments,
I gathered a few passing glances at some other worlds.
To me they look like better possibilities.
Withered feathers best described
our flight patterns.
Some storms blocked our way,
nocturnal entities from the next dimension
gather at stations and vicariously
live life
through your eyes.
I wont be the sacrifice,
I don’t wanna be a prospect.
Your soul is distilled into spirits.
My was made into mead.
The confidence is hardly in low stock.
But decisions are.
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.

Caught in the realm of a far greater society,
she would never taste true love on earth,
so she would have to travel.
Samsungs sorrow was held somewhere deep
within her forgotten past.
She fretted over the little things
she never got to do
and lost herself in replaying
every single angle.
Endless nights of tossing and turning
and revisiting feelings
through her subconscious left her lost to panic,
alone and in the dark.
She could hardly ever make out a discernable song
but none the less it was played,
by a man four billion light years away,
who she would never actually know.
From head to toe electrified,
and sanctified by reason
the ever knowing thought bot senses
wrinkles in that fabric that we knitted.
Call the tailor and get him sewing
for mans to good to be ****.
And there we leave the nameless patterns
of neural activity sufficiently spoken for.

Calico drones line fences and gates
resurrected from old motherboards.
Iron and silicone in contrast with
the decrypted analog sound bites
made from mothers tears.
The lucky village idiots
smoke chloroform cigarettes.
And they all miss the carnage.
The unlucky idiots smoked anything
they could get their grubby lips on.
To be wakeful in the womb of schism
seems far more terrifying than parachuting.
But jump away little one,
for fear will make you mad
or it will make you stronger.

Mechanical devices accomplish frightful walks
with stronger essence than that of man.
Robot-humans being violated.
Recordings of digital warfare brighten screens
and index fingers strobe at the mouse.
Sitting around coriander garlands made for the dead,
captains place more meaning on life,
than death.
My fears are past and now,
I breathe new air into the meaning of humanity.
Heroes are so last year.
Higher standards take fruitful grasps
in the thighs of lower ones.
My position is in a place of disagreement
and the unsatisfied rumble in my tummy
will simply fade and be forgotten.

A cultural revolution is hiding behind the face of Tokyo’s finest geisha.
And she looks pretty.
"My underground, supersonic bullet train is faster than yours,"
she said with perfect symmetry in her smile.  
"Oh?", I said with american gusto,
hoping for a new lead on my future.
"It takes me to the rising sun, where new parties breed," she said again.
Her beauty and symmetry was even better than before.
Then, she told me something that I didn't know.
“Shark fin soup, kama sutras, and virtual *** go well together."
.

Nagasaki failed and the lotus blossom wilts.
But he will never see it that way.
A man of fire took his time to take the shot.
And when he dropped the bomb,
the demons choir took a break from deceitful melodies.  
Though they were never really heard
they still beat barrels of rice wine,
which they've converted to percussion ensembles.
The music of our souls flowing and swaying,
while our disembodied toes tap to the melody.
Never again, Nagasaki.
Never again.
Such travesty veiled by inhuman reason.
And I follow it to the end.

I'm poison and I’ve reached maximum saturation.
Molten mercury flows through my veins.
And you cannibalise me like hungry wolves.   
-
We lost our battles too many times.
So now children have to save the world
while mom and dad crash-land into Mars.
Today we see the future but the past is far behind us.
-
Sarcasms great reveal is that love is true,
while love looks right into my eyes and lies.
-
Heathens wearing heathen armor
clash sword and shield relentlessly against each other.
-
So while you say, "good luck" and wave your hand,
I clench my fist and remind myself,
*I don’t believe in magic.

A mutant hung above the shack I called my own.
Crocodile fangs and bangs.
Wishing I was a creature like her,
she asked me to follow her to the sewers.
Being forsaken never looked so charming.
I liked her, so I followed.
She took me down.
She fed me snake blood and I mixed it with *****.
We crept and crawled through the filth
in search of hints to our own meaning.
She explains to me that in the sewers,
time and space become illusions,
and now is all that matters.
My shoulders began to sprout little nodes
that turned to feathers,
that turned to wings.
But I didn’t know yet how to fly.
She led me out of the sewers
and grabbed my by the hand.
She kissed me on the cheek
and as she flew away she said,
"Tomorrow we can learn to fly."

I would stand by you if you had a better attitude.
I would love you if you were less shallow.
I would fight for you if you had a fight of your own.
I would listen to your problems
if I already didn’t hear them all.
What I wont do, is change for you.
I wouldn’t let you go without letting you know why.
And normally I wouldn’t ask you to change but I think you ****.

I see through your atoms.
I collect data on your likes
and engage in tactical warfare.
I dedicate my hours to spotting weakness,
then hop-jump-skip over them.
I crawl at the feet of great folks
who approach the world at full.
I become inspired.
Anti-protons and protons.
Nuclear particles that make up
the billions of thoughtful questions I have,
all without a voice.
Or an answer.
I exist in something like a game
but I never learned the rules.
I hopped scotch because its all I know.
I fight against the gravity that I create
and instead I choose to orbit
small moons and elegant stars.  
I crash into lakebeds
and leave everything dead and gone.
I am Man,
or at least some guy,
and that’s a good enough title for me.

Its time to be left to my own devices
and rewire the circuitry.
Climb to Mt. Un-climbable,
defeat the monster at the top.
I fear only the reaper and respect his wishes
for his claws are scraping at our windows
every time we hit the pillow.
Don’t dive into shallow bodies of waters
and don’t forget to wear your sunscreen.
Bereft by my own unfruitful devices I search for solitude.

I creep through the dank recesses
of my stewing mind.
I search for meaning
to my ceaseless activities.
I grow closer to myself
and I learn to respectfully listen.
I creep, I search, I grow, I learn
and I am my own companion;
Only I will be there for the rest of my battlefield life.

So here you find me on the roof of my building.
Looking up to find me a star,
so I can name it.
I keep the name a secret.
Mystery keeps the world turning.
I put the name in my artificial pocket
and next month I’ll find it.
I'll pull it out and recall its place above me.
Its purpose, for you, still a mystery
but to me, a religion.
Forged by the great father of engineering,
I stand *****.
I am perfect by design,
but flawed for being made.
No pulse, but my mind is always beating.
Calculating stability, analyzing data,
crunching number after number
and finding a unanimous rhythm.
Time for me is nothing,
and thus I will be everlasting.

I wish I was a haiku,
but it's too hard.

Gravity keeps me keen to the world.
I love the blades of green delight when they tickle at my toes.  
I love the rays of yellow dwarf.
At my freckles, they jest.
It seems senseless how our Masters get away with ******.
We sharpen their blade and willingly hand it to Master.  
And he drives it back into our chest.
A willing sacrifice, I would admit.
But I fear the feeling of helplessness
curses my allegiance to the Gods.
So tonight I close my helpless eyes
and learn to fly for forever.

Back by popular demand
being a ***** persisted.
I'm sick of yuppies in BMWs
that glitter the highway like cheap tinsel
and ruin my view of sunset on Sunset Blvd.
On top of that,
gift cards mixed up with chopped up plastic credit
rattle at the insides of my plump little belly,
and I don’t think its going anywhere.
*Although, I'm getting nauseous,
I wont ***** until the fat lady sings.
And if that's not long enough for you then,
I'll just see you in hell.

Darkness. That was the only thing left. Apocalyptic nightmares turned true.
Groups of families gather at Ralston Mansion packed tight into every room.
Tents pitched and quiet talking.
My tool was an axe that my family used for chopping wood.  
I carried it effortlessly and would never let it go.
The loss of millions seemed like a terrible joke.
A joke of which nobody spoke.
Exploring the giant abode was my new mission.
Gleaming the crevices and dark corners, until I come to a large empty room.

The walls are high, and centered in the middle of the main wall was a single outlet.
From it out pored a strange dark stain that patterned a beautiful fractal.
As I studied the design, the wholeness of the geometric patterns stunned me.
There was something behind the walls.
Bleeding through the ancient wallpaper, something lied hidden.
I was undoubtedly enthralled and decided to force my axe heavily into the seeping image.
Instead of a solid hard noise, a gushing chop persisted.
I hastened my blows to my own disgust and horror.  
For as the chips of wood peeled away the secret was revealed.
Packed as tight as our putrid tents were,
the masses of dissected corpses flopped and thudded and fell to the ground.
Before I could move, I was piled.
I was suffocating and gasping for air.
Then it fades.
When I wake up, I’m sitting on an airplane.
I'm flying to London, and I cant remember what happened prior night.

Porcupine flesh gilded the entirety of her skeleton.
No one ever dared near the beast.
Just to fear the beast.
Her stomping, poking and prodding.
With the peasants retreating,
she grows pleased with her malice.
I too left the battle.
For I know, that without a meal the beast will die.  
I pledge vows of waning mettle,
collect memorabilia
and stash it all in a box
underneath the California Live Oak
down on Mildred St.
A rightful place for things to rot,
along with every spiteful thought.
Mark the spot with an "X"
and next April all will be a distant memory.
Just remember.
*With out a meal the beast will die.

Wrinkled and warped is the face of wisdom.
That is the look of a good soul.
True as the physics of today and tomorrow.
Walking hard against the blankets of darkness disguised as light.
And avoiding the traps cloaked as trickling springs.
Heeding warnings that are followed for the pursuit of better things.
Ever ready, ever waiting, ever walking and ever listening.
All people echo in eternity but their reverberations are always different.
Tried and honest is the clatter that you will love.
So love thy self and rise above.

Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah,
blah blah.
Blah.

What is it about becoming ageless that is so appealing?
Being honest and loud and true too.
But bravery tops them all.
Mostly 'cause I think it's lost.
At least when you tally up the masses of humans beings on the globe,
I would put money on the fact that courage is a rarity.
So old and forgotten that it's been pawned off at the corner.
So who doesn’t want to be remembered for that?
Courage comes in countless forms.
How hard could courage be?
I think the courage to be honest and to be loud and to be true,
is the ultimate direction, the greatest end goal.
Then you will be remembered.
Follow your dreams.
Don’t just dream.
Open doors.
Don’t avoid them.
Try thinking every once and a while about what exactly your doing at this very moment.
I mean with your life.
Are you good? Or are you bad?
You know the difference.
Are you living up to the potential of what being human truly is?
The answer is most obviously no.
Maybe you don’t believe me,
but walking on the concrete pathways to everywhere,
I feel a little displaced.  
Disgraced and put off.
I'm not here to make you feel bad,
but someone told be that we should have our ears upon the soil.
He told me that we should be a little more careful.
"It's not your fault its mine", he said to me.
So, that got me to thinking.
What if we could change the future,
the mold that makes us up?
The DNA and RNA and every single atom.
"We are comfy, leave us alone."
Wait.
Did I just hear you say something?
Ahh, never mind my ranting.
I knew you were never listening.
Just be courageous for gods sake.

Smoke leaves my lungs and crawls
above the nostrils I call yours.
Unsettled you walked away.
Putting lip balm on your fingertips
and touching your lips together.
Smack, smack.
You are essentially a goddess.
Applying your balm and making me restless.
You should be ashamed,
but rather I am.
And that’s the magic that you have.  
The hold you’ve got on me is really more than magical.

Now, you blow your smoke at me.
I **** it in.
I love the sour tang
and the fact that it is yours.
Hours float on by
and memories forget to be made
but you were always there.
Puffing rings into my life.
Puff, puff.
That’s what we were.
Rings of smoke,
and anyone we passed
could feel our putrid dissipation.
And we stuck to the inside of cars.
And we never quite left the curtains fresh either.
And we made you all sick with cancer.
And we had no idea.

Illusions and spell casters,
tyarants and nobles.
Thats the roster.
Gifted fellows hidden in ghettos
and men who can fly
go about their regular business.
Meanwhile, professors light off their toy rockets.
The missiles fling beautiful con trails across the sky and
drop John Doe off at the moon.
Monsters still hide in shadows
and eagles still die.
*But don't you worry your tired soul,
because change is coming.

Vexed by the dots that are strewn above the clouds.
My intense gaze fixed upon the moon
and the mystery it shrouds.
As my observance leaves home freedom is found.
Invigorating.
Beats of a cosmic drum,
binding strength to my essence,
keep my flight in animation.
The beads of cosmic spring,
trickle the length of my lips
and I dance across the space between each star.

Laughing and crying
and learning the truth of it all,
and seeing the probabilities.
This was my lasting message
as I couldn’t fly forever,
be at one with your planet
for the bounty of nature
is endless,
and our lasting possibilities
simply rely on that.

I tell myself,
"Go dine tonight on memories,
on the fleeting thoughts of misery,
the tale tell signs of ignorance,
and the blind reliance on energy."

My other self then chimes in,
"But the beast still silent,
hiding in the shadows,
waits to prey on you
as you yourself feast upon the world."

"Good luck with that, Me", I say.
Continuing my meal,
and cutting Me off short.

Thats the day I watched my ego walk away.
I try not to let it phase me
but truth be told it did.
None the less I bit the Bulleit,
the elixir to my problems.
I think tomorrow my ego
is finally gonna come home.

Swords of diamond blade hang above the pillow
that I rest my restless head.
Tied to the bed are serpents and lions that slither and bellow
to the rhythm of my veracious heartbeat.
One hundred feathers are at my feet
while the fathers I once trusted
have gone and exiled me.
A hundred problems and one silly solution.
Ignorance is bliss.
Be wise and consider the consequences.

I quantify the challenges I face every day,
by simple math.
Drought, starvation, disease and death.
They still never really add up.
Doorways to the nether neither proved,
nor disproved my sanctity.
So I trudge on.
The holy portals of tomorrow still guiding me.
Now, I’m not making any choices.
They are defined by a divination of the ancient form.
I just listen to the voices.
Bones and dice turn men to mice.
My situation defined simultaneously as I transform.
From a man to a mouse,
and still human.
Well hardly,
but we're not here to read of that.
Just close your wanting eyes and see the prophecies.  
Both at the end and at the beginning.
A fresh start to my advances.
This is the end and the beginning.

Argus was the only thing I could remember,
though I knew it was December.
The images before were only white noise.
Ringing in the temples.
Something new was implanted in my thoughts.
Now I have a watchful mission,
to keep my eyes up towards
the deep blue heavens.
But before me,
a series of sevens are written on the wall,
and “Fizbin” is flashing before my eyes.
I started my vexing fall
to the depths of inside my mind.
The flesh that holds our thoughts
is hardly safe from peeping voyeurs.
But I fell and I fell,
then I reached my destination.
Now my beckoning grasp for oxygen
leaves me suffocated.
And I lie still awaiting orders.

Space is hardly the final frontier.
But, for now,
don’t you think we seem ambitious?
Shooting arrows at the clouds
could come back
to shoot you in the head.
Can’t you see that colonies on mars
would become a new home for problems.  
Seems desperate.
What do I know though,
I'm Twenty-Five and I haven't even graduated college.
But fears of failure make us see future
where our planets long since dead.
From that arrow to the head.
Salvation relies on a new years revolution
or something humbling like that.
But wait,
I shouldn’t write that here.
Big Bro is always watching.
I might find a man in black,
tap-tapping at my chamber door.
Not Lenore.
Thats when you'll hear me saying,
"Does anyone have a cigarette?"

The dissonance of your resonating
image haunts my memory.
A drifter in dimensions,
the prevention that kept me from you,
was myself and my trajectory.
Not a man then
but some other lesser mess of a soul.
At first,
with your plasma torch of a self,
you took my hands.
I was left laying still in the dirt,
with my eyes to see and my mouth
to taste the horrid flavor of our tango.
As well as my heart to feel
and my mind to think
but this would be a schism of my senses.
Succubi eventually take them all.
At least all the ones that matter.
Then she kicked me out to Cosmos.
I was flattered at the beginning,
when you told me you loved me.
But now,
I'm drifting into the darkness of space
with my environmental suit,
that protects me forever.
Wandering and Unaffected.
I need a resurrection.

Deep out on the rim of the galaxy
there lies a tiny place
that no one knows about.
It’s the place where all good things come from.
All the generations of and for love
and kindness and bliss and forgiveness
root at its source.
It is the ultimate destination
among our solar heavens.
Try to imagine a lost vessel,
isolated and tired,
hiccuping between the suns,
then finding the Great Milky Way's secret place of joy.
Our undisclosed place of love.
The place we all forgot.
Earth.
These occupants of the ship would be lost to reveling
at our earthly capacities for tenderness.
OH, the total bliss they all must feel!
Ahh,
be careful now you.
I've gone and caught you being optimistic.
Try to remember this solid truth.  
Equally hidden in the stars,
there is a place of evil.
One where the tempted souls
and sinners place their geneses.
A place of desperation and angst
and fear and segregation.
There is always a little a yin to the yang.
There is no one with out the other.

The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.

Its totally deceiving,
the tales of the meaning of life.
Grow up,
go to school,
get a job,
work hard,
play hard,
pay your taxes,
and especially die hard.
But still my brain is running slower
than my online connection speeds.
So slow.
I ended the day spent and tired,
and filled with wasted deeds.
Bitter?
Maybe.
But who faults a man
for defining himself through his actions.
Ogling at the universe,
and simply breathing.
Meditation keeps me sane.


As you can probably tell,
my strife continues effortlessly.
Sliding down an icy road
with no chains
and my brakes at full.
When the tree comes to slam me,
I'll be ready.

So long foggy atmosphere.
Hello reality?
Is this really it?
The life I believed I’d lead was far greater.
The lord of kings,
or the sultan of squat?  
A hoard of useless things,
and a chest wound
that was mustered
from a buck shot.
The timing was perfect,
as was the definition,
no,
AMMUNITION
that I tattooed on my chest.

Truth.

"I failed to believe anyone and this is what it got me?"
"What?!"

Man I need to rethink this strategy.
The majesty of thy cunning has left my soul beside itself.
And I beseech your attention, cuz.
Well,
because
I need you now.

Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.

Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.

The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.

I saw you the first time at my minimum wage  job.
Vibrant and curly.
Every moment started slowing down
and as I counted the minutes you faded away.
With a big beautiful smile of course.
But no longer there.
Then after you left my sight
another image persisted.
One of you walking back into my store.
Nothing more.
But this image was long out of reach.

The second time I saw you I forgot to get your number.
I consider myself a fool for this,
but you were still standing
and looking at me.
Absolutely straight into my eyes.
I could hardly make your sandwich.
The eyes of my throbbing soul.
Without the hustly bustle of my own mentality,
I would have taken you to Mars right then and there.
With all your curly hair.
And all your ******* smiles.
My earnings for the biweekly pay
couldnt surmount the glory
that is your absolute stunningness.

My body disobeys me.
Each step forces me to exercise parts of my body
I didn’t know had subsisted.
I hardly controlled my maneuvers,
as I basically drifted.
Even my helmet is showing signs of weakening,
under these steepening,
enormous pressures.
Terrified and trembling with my humanly gestures,
I must have sent vibrations throughout
the cold water as the creatures began to circle over my head.
I could see off in the distance
the submarine of my former occupation.
A distant iconic stationary emblem of my failures.
Then, the porpoises and scaled beasts parted
to contrast a heavenly sight.
No corpses or failed feasts started
in the ballast of this night.
For a maiden of duality
saved my beckoning soul
from the eternal slumber
that had otherwise awaited.
The rest of this tale I leave up to the mystery
of word of mouth.
But what must be said is that underneath
the blue waters lies
much that we do not begin to conceive.
Take it or leave it,
I cant force a man to believe.

When I came to, it was already too late.
Tumbling at the speed of sound and pointed
at the only thing I ever cared about.
Home.
Readjusting and stabilizing
the shot towards earth,
I remembered what was packed tight
in the cargo hold with the titanium alloy exoskeleton.
It was a matter of total energy.
So powerful,
that I used it to come see my home world
even though it was long since abolished.
The destruction was a mystery up until now.
As I hurled towards earth with my incredible dangerous load.  
My only hope was that I could come back and save my family.
I would have never considered
that I would be the demise of my entire species,
nonetheless all of the underestimated subspecies that would die too.
"Captain."
The vessels computer was attempting to revive me.
“Impact in thirteen seconds.”
The ship commanded in the most perfect womanly voice.
"Ten."
"Initialize magnetic gyroscopic shielding." I say.
"Nine."
My planets surface was closing in.
I could see the coastline waves
rolling and ebbing with the moon.
"Eight."
At this moment I considered my probable demise.
"Seven."
“Captain, interdimensional equipment
charged and awaiting coordinates.”
She said,
as her other voice commanded,
“Five seconds till impact.”
Collapsible was the style of our Universe.
All I had to do now,
was tap the controls and I would leave the atmosphere instantly,
taking me in between the folds of particles.
The hull was losing integrity as was I.
And on that thought,
I simply pressed the button
and started my return to my lonely place in time.
Alone in the distant future and in the silence of space.
The passing eons of space-time were rattling my very bones.
But I ascended to the very place in time
where I would have been.
And there she was in all her exaltation.
Earth.
Untainted as I once recalled.
That’s when it struck me.
It was only logical that my life had been
looping all these years.
Destroying and saving humanity
all at the same time.
So typically me.
"Computer, set a course for San Francisco."

Dusty and as used as the trial head,
I lay my crown down.
Dusty as the recently raced thorough bred.
Im tired now.
Aint that enough said.
Twisting and turning and pulling
the sheets of my bed.
Id rather be swimming in the distance.
Right out of your perspective.
Forcing you to squint your eyes.
So much so that it really ******* hurts.