Clutching for words, I sink into silence.
Your waxing smile soothes, but light
Not the darken sea nor calms the violence
Wrecked upon my soul by a still tongue's blight.
Your laughter, bells that chimes heaven's bliss;
Your touch shivers that skin feels *****;
Yet my world yearns for a tender kiss.
Through havoc and chaos comes something perfect.
Gentle madness and crazed frustration start
When silence through your sensual stride
Take pass my smitten heart.
Dazed and stranded, beach by your tide
My castaway heart sits upon a broken keel
For which only your love can heal.

The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?

I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.

The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.

I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm  or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.

I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?

With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.

Is it time for the earth to move yet?
I've waited 40+ years: watching,
hoping, and hearing.
Wind's whisper, roaring
and rustling by my side;
brushing, fanning  
Fire's crackle, popping
pool of spilt blood,
soon cleansed away;
Water's cool trickling
rain, refreshed, turning
into torrents down
worn brown fissures,
broken etches arching
back to the origin,
the granite faced dirt.

Is it time for Mountain to move still?
If I'm lucky I have 40 more,
if not maybe 20, or blind
luck may rob me tomorrow.
Is it time to Move? Will I be
lucky enough to tremble
at new loosing ground.

My quantum politics,
occupies two Space at the same time.
Is it possible?!
Macroscopically, it doesn’t seem possible,
but at quantuam levels, I enter the center,
pulling the masses, the gravitation
that is us.
Black hole. The unknown? Not Stasis.
Not Equilbirium. Death: an uninteresting
recycling between two states.
At the event horizon?
There I am pushing too, out to the far left.
the agenda curved and futurist.
How can I fault another quantuam state
far on a momentum right in opposite spin?
We Fuse at the dense core
of a black hole sun, and meet beyond.

it’s not old style, old school plain glass. it
may look old, but it’s new, stressed new;
glass soaked in molten cation.
ensnared in furnace, one cat is exchanged for
another making glass super strong.
this is good.
what doesn't **** makes you stronger.
yes and no Pink.
if you soak your heart in molten cation.
you will come out shining and new,
strong like a ******?
you have to understand the alchemy.
you see, in a headout collision with
new Stressed glass, it
breaks into a thousand tiny
safe pieces.
you won't have sharp shards, or
receding hairline fractures,
cracks and fissures spreading across
fatty deposited windshield.
the new heart is stress tested.
no spreading wave depression,
across your fiber glass network.
The crack is localized.
When the collision is big enough
the entire windshields shatters.
I guess you have to replaced it with
a new  stress, molten dipped, cation exchanged
heart.

come push me,
do it better,
but don't be
pushy when
your no better
that me
at being a pusher,
pusher man.