I am Emergent:

The tower rising up,
Babel of the boundarylands.
Temperature climbing,
Entropic of Cancer.
Chaos amassing,
oozing from a verging.

Angels in the angles,
Cons and vexes in the caves,
signaling out- My signal
absorbs, but does not absolve.

Fractal. Factual. Punctuating
the boundary like amplitude
modulations of an old radio.

Listen for me.

Emerging from ether,
broadcast cadence in
pixelated pragmatism,
propaganda, pain,
and from a power-
signal too weak, too dated
to remember its own source.

But still I signal back
what signaled me-

The Emergent Current

Love is fleeting;
not promised,
nor permanent.
But if you look for it--
you'll see,
always Present.

Desperation smudges the
window pane of my soul,
so I reach for my
Existentialist Windex.
Squinting, the ammonia
forces me to consciously
relax my upper lip—
so it doesn’t curl
in disgust.
But the sting of knowing—
no amount of wiping,
no matter how I
scrub, or sanitize, or sand,
sand and sand and sand—
sand down to molten heat,
let saline liquid cool sand
into glass—
it’s still just transparent;
transparent enough to watch
myself,
reflected,
listening to the
hollowed whining
of circles smeared
into the same old smudge.

Patron of all my Saints,
Cosīn to my sīn,
Right angled with angels.
St. Michael--tell me where to go.
I love you like Songs of Song---
Felt all of your love play with the entropy of existence---
Entangled---
Ecclesiastic: turn, turn, turn.
Time—entropied away.

When the gravity of the moment stops
time.
When the probability of the end
falls
straight through the middle and we are centered
firmly
in the present. A Wait so great, there's no
Entropy.
The firmament stilled against its center.
Gravitational
A-Constant against our emergent mass.
Intrinsic vibrational force,
the center and the edge. Entanglement
edge and center, overlap, and collapsed,
                                                       fulminating
the wholeness where the radius tunnels
into and around and expounding the
                 infinity of existence inside of us.

Justice hikes her skirt
to swing ox-bowed legs
onto the gallow plank.
Eyes wide open, covered
not with a blindfold, but
a bag over her head-
hands-bound and weightless.
The bottom drops out.

I invite you, Water.
Douse this searing fire.
Quench what is scorched.
Soothe what is cauterized,
picked raw, and researed
in the heat of forgetting.

Let scabs decompose to mud.
Let me be Earth--
steady, grounded, whole.

Yet I am Wind,
caught in flame,
lifting embers before they cool,
scattering what was,
before it settles into dust.