on the paper
newly minted,
first time printed

causal pausation
assessment momentation
review, the second inclination,
then scrap-heaped,
in much bad company filed
retained, reserved, preserved,
for another go round,
another someday

you look at your hands,
telling them straight,
not good enough,
is not good enough
anymore

do try, so try,
three lines, four stanzas,
elegies and funerals
don't become you,
go into labor,
write labored
and birth free flowingly
knowing,
that all knowing glowing,
of a poem child,
product of
good enough

When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending

When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening

to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable

and yet

cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,

it has yet

to arrive

When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed

When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction

she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
rentery orbit,
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot

When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after

death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
is the God
I worship

What?

well don't be shocked,
it's genetic coded,
drilling for dimples

my parents did it
to me,
down the food chain,
for a millennium,
Baby Boomers, Millennials,
Gen X, Gen Y, Gen Z
it will be done forever,
auto-naturally

place the pointer finger
gently upon each cheek,
commence so soft
digging, twisting for
the oil of human smiles,
the reward, astonishing!

a shocking discovery
made this morn!

you can do it too
"going up the stairs,"
to Grandmas, Nana's,
if you catch them,
and with extra care spent,
soft so soft when
they are
just waking up,
when their inner kid
is sleepy showing

drill a dimple,
drill, baby, drill,
if your baby/is
six or sixty,
at any age,
kissing an
unexpected smile,
most worthwhile!

"Most men lead lives
of quiet desperation
and go to the grave
with the song still in them.”

Henry David Thoreau
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*this fearsome cursed thought,
rises fresh daily from
under death's precursor,
when sleep crusted eyelids broken

illusions none,
escapes zero,
go to my grave
with no lew'd selfie
foolish proclaiming
I was the greatest,
tho but an itinerant bit, an Internet curio

this so very quiet man,
sings his way every day,
with these worn tools,
dull, yet shiny from loving overuse,
the very things you
are currently grasping,
words,
his words

as you do as well...

each poem,
oil poured annotating
a new poem king anointed,
a psalmist on the lyre composing
of still waters to lie beside,
of valleys where he shall final rest

delusions none,
my bones and words will in dust meld,
ashes, couplets, dried essences,
a scents that is
this beings, his Eau de Cologne alone,
tints and hints of yellowed pixels,
tired bone and the worn flesh of
maybe's too plentiful,
coulda's, shoulda's,
if only

so in quiet desperation,
and human spirit ignited by lighter fluid burning,
write, and write yet thrice more,
that a leaden life be happy soiled,
each singing a freedom breaching birth,
a glorious failure, yet endeavour'd
to let his unique tune be heard

to my grave down, down,
but one contentment proudly, black-bold-etched,
amidst the forest of daily desperations,
protested he, with tunes herein shared,
marked by no copyright,
other than his name plain,
satisfied that his singing was
loudly heard until his voice,
could be, would be,
stilled only by Father Time

run the hands over every
tissued cell,
race the tongue upon and under every
unsealed pore

linger, tarry,
only if you must,
here, there and where
you stop only to drink
my body's must...

lid to lobe,
crevice to mound,
uncover the obvious,
reveal the infinitesimal,
finite the desire,
end at the beginning,
fire up the cool hearth,
emblazon the shields ofordinary,
exit and enter
simultaneously

refill the apertures
with~not~my
peptones, enzymes, amino acids,
replenish my
well

then drain
well
the abscesses and repair
the wearable wounds ,
reminder remains
of prior contests,
won and lost

make me better
than well

know before,
realize afterwards
that ceasing,
never and always,
is an always never*

for this route
forever changing,
for your hands and tongue
redraw me
every time
they run the course

every time,
ever and when you
exit and enter
always and ever
simultaneous,
the course of
my flesh