you are a fractal

in a sea of branches
you are the air between

the dust that spirals in the sun streams


the decimal point in the equation

the dividing line between oblivion and infinity

you are a loose end
fraying
made of left over dry skin








you are the chemical

you poison my drinking water

you are

the secret ingredient
the last place they'd ever look

you are

the dark matter
the imaginary number I can't wrap my head around

you cure my melancholy






we are

alveoli

we breathe fire

seen through telescopes
we believe we are alone

we'll believe anything they tell us




they won't love you
they can't see you

you are too much
they'd never understand


you don't give
what you don't receive

you give life
as you breathe through me



I see you when my eyes close
I trace your shape on frosted windows





you spark the fire that hijacks my biology



you draw upon my skin with ***** fingernails

your handwriting is embedded in my DNA




your name echoes still
unfamiliar voices without faces


your secret's safe with me



hidden in massive outer space places
untraceable
mastermind configuration
takes ages just to give up out of frustration

Chaotic material twisting around brain cells
Body aching for a sense of vacancy.
Dimming the lights to brighten perception
Affections dismissed, craving nothing but darkness.
I see better with the blinds closed.
I feel better when there’s nothing left.
Undressed, suppressed, a shattering mess of dust
And debris
Collecting behind strained eyes
Making patterns that don’t make any sense.
Grab hold on to secure structures
Lightly
They crumble with the weight they collect.
Injecting affliction directly in my veins
Moderately conscious,
Moderately oblivious.
SCREAMING emphatically
For an ounce of rain.
Screaming to release this dirt
This disease
Crawling across this race we feed
It’s stale. We are deserted.
Incarcerated in our own complications
The freedom we seek is not
From above
The dove is also infected
I’m tempted to carve their shadows
Right out of the skyline.

Physical entropy
Degenerating mentally
Blistering coldness
Completely divided
Minute attentions
Diverse dreams
   Of crowned suns
Sidestepping death
Reframing life
Unopened borders
   Enclose the
   Pedestrians within
Open minds
   And closed mouths
Closed fists
   And open eyes
Blindfolded
   By an uneducated
   Population

Oh, Dark Science
Mysterious Gravity
I am moving
Nothing slows me
Towards that Center
Newton laughing
As I plummet
Up and outward
Her black heart
Heavy, waiting
Fractal Love
Never changing
Time slows down
I keep falling
Forever.

My physics teacher told me;
we never quite touch.
The electrons don’t allow it,
or something of the such.

It would be fun to say a sentence,
idealistic,
enigmatic,
cliché,
and trite.
Perhaps a little something such:

“You touched my heart, you gave it a chill.”

But
you
never
did.

And
you
never
will.

the magnolia was a bit of a *******
(as far as trees can be *******)
and like very many other things—
like japanese candy from the Fugi Mart in Greenwich
                                      (across from the McDonald’s and next to
                                             the music shop where I got my viola)
and like pokemon cards and nintendo gaming systems
and like Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” on a pink CD in a Hello Kitty radio
—that ******* of a magnolia was a distinctive taste
of the years I spent growing up in my house at the end of Wyndover Lane.

the ******* thing was almost perpetually in bloom.

it barged into both spring and autumn
(it didn’t give a **** about timing)
those pink and white spongy petals padding the ground
and at first you think it’s ******* beautiful
sitting in the crook of the trunk where it split into
                                                                two large
                                                       separate branches
tilting your chin back to catch a glimpse of blue between fat blossoms

then the petals start rotting
water-retentive little *******
and you can’t sweep ‘em away because they stick to the patio
brown clumps slipping under rubber soles
my dad lets loose a string of curses
and the magnolia shakes with laughter

I tried pressing the petals in a notebook once
while I was in that naturalist phase it seems all little girls go through
when you make fairy houses out of bark in the backyard
and put flowers between the pages of books because it feels
oh-so-much-more significant
than picking a pretty thing and showing it to mom

but the magnolia seeped through my spiral ring
and when I opened it up a month later they were dry tan papery things
not at all velveteen and rosy
and there were garish pink bloodstains all through the ten pages
on either side
magnolias don’t preserve well
except, honestly they do don’t they

then of course there’s that childhood tragedy that everyone has
when your dog got hit by some soccer mom’s suburban
or your teddy bear was lost in an airport
or maybe you just liked to cry because some things
were just really worth the tears at the time

but when I came home and found out they cut down my ******* ******* of a magnolia

I bawled

there wasn’t
even
a
stump.

They're huddled 'round their periodic lunch tables,
square and socially pyramidal,
and I'm at the bottom.

But they're just fluorine factions,
bullies at heart trying to steal my e-lectricity
with their negativity.

Because I'm light,
Ultra-violet violence to the eyes,
Magnesium burning.
Anti-matter meets matter.

And that catalytic, cataclysmic energy is attractive.
And they see me. They see, see, see,
But I've got too many Cs on this side of my false, metallic personality.
I'd better balance myself
Or I'm not getting a good reaction.

Classic ionic, ironic idiocy.
I've bonded with you,
just compounding the issues.
'Cause you're a complete acetate without a solution:
now all I've got are problems.

Dot Diagrams are dotted lines separating you from me,
because over the years what was a bond
became a partially negative charge
against me.

I was your oxygen, and you were carbon
-ated, bubbly and explosive.
We would Combust.

But now all's left but to see, oh, two
of your new girlfriends flanking your sides,
'cause we've decomposed, split, gone off to better things.

Monatomic monotones lace my speech,
and I'm pining for something to complete this emp-d shell
that is myself.

'Cause I miss what we had.
We had chemistry.