The gaze of a galaxy,
Looks upon your breast tonight,
As your chest rises and falls, so do the planets,
Madly spinning in dizzying ellipticals for you.

Your hot breath against my cheek,
Reminds me what it is like to be human,
Sending whiskey-like heartburn across my body.

I am inebriated by your gaze, galaxy.

The waiter looks at me with the cheese grater in his hand, he starts twisting the handle, making milk confetti shoot out of the bottom of the contraption like old faithful in the summertime. The server asks me to say the word  “when” when I feel like I’ve had enough.

Looking down, I think about how like the cheese, I am a snail grinding into the earth; spending my life away at petty work, only to achieve my end goal of being nothing more than a trail of slime and a worn down shell; my ground beef mess of a body pointing the way in which I was traveling.

What shape would reveal itself, if I were looking at my trail from a higher ground? A circle? A line? Perhaps from above, my path is so thin, that it blurs from existence at further distances.

I look back up expecting to see the waiter. He is gone. My salad is cheesed.

Screaming underwater,
I look up to see no bubbles.
My damaged lungs explode with regret.

Spasmodically gasping for air,
I choke on the tears of my words.
My eyesight closes in around me,
As I plummet into the abyss.

If I hadn’t have opened my **** mouth.

Thousands of miles away from home, a broken man leans over the balcony and expels his soul.

Mouth covered in blood and *****, he sinks to the floor weeping himself to sleep

This is what it is like to cry in the middle of the day.

Wave

A piston moves up and down, just as life does. The greater the vertical distance, or stroke, a piston travels, the more energy is made. A greater surface area, or bore, to the piston latitude, will also increase the energy output. Higher energy transfer translates to increased frictional wear. Since engines must be balanced, for every upstroke, there is a downstroke.

I've lost my keys,
I've lost my mind.
I keep a spare set,
For just this one time.

Strum some chords,
And make a song,
If I had still a brain,
I'd even sing along

Body spinning circles,
And the mind doing flips,
I check in the fridge,
Under the stapler and dip

My most flexed muscle,
I know it is fried,
Once capable of greatness,
I believe it has died

Not sure whether,
to sob or scream,
I slump into a chair,
And put on some Queen

The song is familiar,
I've heard it before,
I used to play it,
At 104

Wrong side of the road,
not giving a ****,
I played that song,
Into the lights of a truck

But I'm not going 104 anymore,
I'm sitting still,
because I've lost my **** keys

On an old candle,
The wicks, like man,
Have piled upon themselves.
Do we reach our highest point?
Drawing up our oil.
Only to extinguish.

It all started back in 97
I died when I was a kid
Didn’t want to go to heaven
I missed my ma,
I missed my pa,
I missed the sweet curves of Arkansas

I came back worried
Had to live life fast
Dropped a gear
And began to pass
Looked back in the mirror
I lost sight of what truly last
It’s all about the people you know
We can all be happy if you go with the flow

We all family down here on dirt
People are evil because of worth
You work too hard you end up in a hearse
You know that you can live out of a purse?
Take a walk
Never come back
Never wake up from your nap
Camping with your friends for life
People on the streets with guns and knives
In the woods there ain’t no strife
It’s just you and your next meal
That’s the life

But we can be better than that
We call ourselves civilized as a fact
Brothers killing brothers ain’t the way to go
Life is easier just go with the flow
Are you happy in that big house all alone?
You don’t need keys when you’re in the grave
Why you workin so hard to save?
Can’t you be happy with the choices you’ve made?
It’s in the past it’s all a fade
You could lose it all in a raid
Help your brother when he needs aid
Do positive and maybe you’ll be saved

Tick, tip, tap, rippity, smack,
You didn’t change your oil.
Kachunkachunk, kablooey, baboom, the piston has left its room. Now, the baboon must spend his dabloons soon, or suffer the wrath of friction in bloom. Zoom Zoom

Whispers of an old candle,
Evening sunset over the hills,

Remembering the lost sandal,
A match illuminates a row of pills,
Clocking my punch card in,
Everyone around me, fading away,

In a race, life is thrown in a bin,
Never having time for play,

Drawing up the oil,
Urban toil, covering the soil,
Only to extinguish

Worn transmissions will slip if you flush the old fluid out. This is because the old fluid contains bits and pieces of the memorable clutch, which increases the friction capacity of the fluid. With a worn clutch, more energy is transferred between engine and transmission. Over time, this increased viscosity and energy will increase the pressure in the veins of the machine, the clutch fragments sanding down the walls, and eventually, a seal will blow out, and the life fluid will spray everywhere until the machine grinds to a deathly halt. The only way to fix this is to completely rebuild the transmission one piece at a time, and put new fluid in. Cost and time wise, it’s better to just try another transmission. But people are more than a transmission. Sometimes, we get too emotionally involved, and we dig a hole to the center of the earth. A transmission cannot repair itself; it needs the help of a mindful mechanic.

A pack of American Spirits,
The thermos is full of brew,
This morning sunrise,
I’m thinking of you,
Packing an extra helmet and another pair of gloves,
I am happy,
Gonna pick you up

When we wheelied,
You held me tight,
Going around corners,
We leaned just right,
Bodies synced,
Dancing in the moonlight
You were the one,
That caught my sight

The helmets are broken,
The bike is too,
I broke it all myself,
Flew over the view,
Now I have this prescription glue,
That makes it hard to chew,
Feels like I have the flu,
And the doctor hasn’t a clue,
Why I’m not yet new,
But I know,
It’s you

Days blur,
Always causing a stir,
Speech is slurred,
Forgetting what’s occurred

Another new pill,
To get me over that hill,
It’s supposed to be chill,
But the side effects make me ill

To my frustration,
I’m still at the station,
Stronger hallucinations,
Have put a hold on my location

No man has ever died in a pool of his own tears,
Years of fears,
Just a smear on the sphere
Two eyes, and a pair of ears

Like a beaten dog,
Or a slave of the land,
I resent the sunrise.

After the morning medication,
I crumple into the tub,
Broken, weeping, shaking,
A carrion to the carnal carnivores.

Choking down my tiny breakfast takes hours,
Trying not to think of lunch,
I escape outside to quell the nausea,
Often finding myself miles from home.

Eyelids growing heavy, the day isn’t even over, I just wish mine was.

One two, I’m in a mood.
Three four, lock the doors.
Five six, what’s the fix?
Seven eight, cry an hour straight
Nine ten, better again.

The previous driver skimped out on maintenance. Now, as the new driver, his old problems are now my problems. If only vehicles could repair themselves.

Swooping through space,
My vision is filled with yins yanging through gaps in time

The first falls
Trying to catch himself
He is bound to stride for eternity
Sprinting into the void

The next shaman
Looses consciousness
Awake in his own dream
He does not compute

The third elder falls to his face
****** into the black hole sun
Madness clawing its way
Toward me
Relentless

I grind my teeth
To a fine powder
Eyes bulging
From my skull
I resist
My body disappears

How long
Can you look at the blinds
Melting, dripping, looming

How long
Can you watch the still drapes
Fluttering, dancing, shifting

How long
Can you stare down that wall
Snowing waves, shimmering

How long
Can you stand it
Trembling, electrified, paralyzed
You couldn’t sit if you wanted.

I like chests and *****

Endothermic Entropy

Endothermic reactions absorb energy from the environment, and store that new energy in chemical bonds formed from the initial reaction.

Reactants contain more potential energy than the products of reactions, because chemistry requires activation energy.

A catalyst speeds up a reaction by lowering the reaction energy, so that a reaction may occur at lower temperatures, pressures, and concentrations.

Therefore, if particular reactants get close enough, and become densely concentrated, or if the reactants gain temperature, or are under high pressure, only a tiny amount of activation energy is needed to start the reaction.

Don’t have an endothermic reaction.

Incomplete Reaction

I once knew an evil activation energy. After many deals with the devil, I began to see the depth of his horrible passions. Once I had made it to shore, I thought that I had escaped his wicked tidal wave. But the debt collector knocks. Not wanting to do his business in public, the tidal wave blocked my escape and pulled me back into his depths.

It was then when I saw your horrified face, I knew that I had died in your eyes. The reaction was finished. The debt was never paid. And you never got an explanation.

Screaming underwater,
I look up to see no bubbles.
My damaged lungs explode with regret.

If I hadn’t have opened my **** mouth.

Water and Oil

Kaclunk! The white smoke under the hood stunk; your car is junk. Get everything out of the trunk, pull the defunct plates off the chunk, and hitch a ride with a drunk. He’ll debunk the automakers as punks, as he plunks another glass bottle at a skunk. But the mechanic implied that it must be the lack of oil in the pump. The sump, dried, and your dump died. If you’re mystified, parts collide, and damage is magnified. An engine denied oil is suicide, he described. Carbide if misapplied, can be liquified; this metallic tide causes problems global wide. Simplified, he replied, slide that certified clump aside, that wreck won’t glide. Go drink some purified dihyrdrogen monoxide, or you’ll end up like your ride.

Load 16 tons and what do you get?

I go into the frozen wasteland to pry a chunk of ice from a cliff side. A sizable piece this big should last months.

Dragging it back home, the load feels lighter with each passing mile; the sun’s hot beams pushing the ice block for me.

Smiling at my burden being eased, I walk into town with my arctic prize. I hear people laughing at me. Looking backwards, I’m dragging a wet rope.

Another day older and deeper in debt

You can’t paint on top of rust. You have to remove the cancer, or else it will spread through the body, and eventually eat the frame. When you cut out the oxide, you fill in the hole with non metallic putty. Once it dries, you sand it down smooth, primer, and paint it. Since paint wears at different rates, the newly painted area will stand out. To blend it properly, you must sand, prime, and repaint the entire car. Unfortunately, the fixed body work will never be as strong as it was new, and the affected area is no longer magnetic.

You tell me that your vehicle of love doesn’t start the same way it used too.
I find the problem immediately, and start removing the leak. After removing the gas vapor recovery system, I notice gas is pouring out into the ground. Plugging the hole, I check the gas tank. She’s full of bad fuel. I empty the tank, and find that the gas has been cut with water. There’s your problem. Fire and water don’t mix, and just adding more fuel won’t get rid of the problem. Your past decisions affect how you start today.

Meeting minutes of the p-brane

The thought that three thimble thumbs thatch this thorny threat, surely superimpose suede surfaces; such summoned suits shall share sheepishly short shoes. Should sharp, shimmering, shallot shapes ship shaking shin splints, splurge splashed splinter. Spray specially spun sparkling springs spanning space, spreading sparks sprung splendidly.

Aha!

An adequately adapted advocate administered advertising, adds added additional adoption addressing added advertising. Are any animals anatomically arranged around an area accordingly? Actually, accoladed acorns across actionable auctions, act autistically acoustic accents acidly among one another.  Another angle answers an automatic ailment among amazing analysts and any anecdotes are accepted.

For I wander here,
Along the same mountaintop,
My home is with me.

I am like toast. I’ve been burned. Crusty outside, soft middle. You spread your sugar on me, and consume me. When you’re done with me, you look into the fridge and pull out another bag of bread.

Those beautiful pines below me call out with the whispering sound of the sirens, as their green majesty hides deathly spikes, that would permanently ensnare any falling climber in a sharp, sticky, tary, tomb. What a carnivore of a plant.

Slinging my leg over the mechanical horse, I crank over the starter and listen to the heart of the beast tick away. I tell myself I’m just taking it out for a tank of gas. No need to push it.

Winding my way down the twisties, I find myself heading in the wrong direction. ***** it. I’ll find my own way there.

Straight stretch coming up, I pull in the clutch, give her a little gas, and drop the lever; lurching the animal back onto its hind leg. Looking under the handlebars at the curve coming up, I land the front wheel back down, and power my way into the next gear.

Bike screaming out of the corner, foot pegs blowing hot sparks behind me, I twist the throttle down, and hug the gas tank with my chest; the raging bull screaming underneath me as we rocket into a locust storm. Chunk by chunk, they blast onto my body and face like war paint shot out of a cannon.

Looking an inch over the speedo and handlebars, my speed cannot be seen. There’s no time to look, and my eyes are crying fire from the raw wind. My ears roar with the sound of a jetliner crashing into the ocean. The tears are dry before they hit my ears.

Now in top gear, full throttle, I move my feet away from the brake, and shifter, back to the tail of the bike; gripping with my legs to hold on, as I rocket into the horizon horizontally.  Finally, I take my left hand off the handlebar, and tuck it between the gas tank and the radiator, so that I fly through the air like a shark.

I open my mouth, and a wind enema shoots its way through my sinuses and out my nose. I smell pure oxygen. My vision closes in, my eyes strain to see the road ahead. My chest is beating faster than the pistons on this death machine. I can see it. The edge. Forever tempting me.

Whistle while you work

My tinnitus is irritating. The sound screeches my thoughts to a halt, like an emergency brake on a train. It’s like having a jet taking off next to you, but you can’t put your hands over your ears to soften the deafening whine. It hurts your eyes, and makes your stomach sick. Sometimes I forget I that have it and I think that a pressure wave explosion has been detonated near by, and that I need to seek shelter. I think one day I’m going to wake up to the same pitch, but it’s going to be coming from a hospital machine.

Blow a rod out the side of the block,
You hear that engine going knock knock knock.
You see that oil pressure needle drop,
You come to a rolling stop,
Clippity clop,
Time to head to the shop

Tetris Woman

You build up a wall, just so it can fall; a never ending game for your own amusement. Why must you drown in your own tears? Is it the years of fears? What’s going on behind those eyes, and between your ears?
Have you ever seen a cold, wet terrier? They paw at the door like they’re being chased by the devil. You open the door, and they fly in, wriggling and shaking the rain off their back like Bob Ross’s paintbrush. Then they inhale a sip of water and scratch at the door to leave. What’s the hurry to go back into the rain?
I feel like these creatures are overstimulated by their environment; tiny animals, scared of their own shadow, barking at their reflection in puddles; it’s not their fault that they were born with this energy. With a surprised yip, they paw at their reflection in the water, disgusted at the animal that stares them back in the soul.
With its mouth open, and little teeth exposed, the terrier has a look of fear and joy on its face; a face frozen in surprise. The terrier puts on a mean face. Grrrr. It stares itself down in the mirror; its eyes keep darting around its face in the mirror. Does it recognize itself? No, it barks at its own reflection again. Woof! Stop looking at me! Bark, bark, bark!
With each outburst, the terrier shakes its chickenlike mowhawk tuft with a fury that rivals the African badger. The creature stays up all night buzzing with energy, so close to defeating its own reflection. Finally, it passes out in front of the mirror; exhausted from a hard day’s labor.
When it wakes up, it takes a nice long stretch, yawns, and opens its eyes. It catches a glance of itself in the mirror, and the puppy begins to cry.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why do you get up, only to fall?
Stand up, and be tall. It’s only the 3rd inning, and it’s time to play ball.

Best or worst case scenario for evolution?

Two plants compete for resources in the desert. A rock falls over both. Surely this means death for both plants. The first plant gives up, and dies. The second plant grew around the rock, and populated the desert.

It’s hard to get a DUI if you can’t make it to your car without passing out. I keep a fresh bottle of whiskey next to my arm chair so I can throw the brakes on life and kick my feet up at the skies. I fly high, but it’s the only way to feel sober.

In the cockpit, I radio my vector to the victor, switch on the autopilot, and step away from the controls. From this point of view, it is hard to distinguish who is at loss. Is it me; the trained pilot, who is trained to give tasks to the autopilot? Or is it the plane, who is cutting through the skies a hundred times faster and higher than mankind was ever meant to travel? Or is it the fuel that was ****** out of the ground in the desert, where it’s lubrication was needed for preventing earthquakes, then separated by pressure and heat, before being barreled and shipped to the other side of the planet, where it is squeezed though a maze of pipes, into the tank of the jet liner. Once airborne, the jetliner burns thousands of tons of fuel every minute. Is the airline at a loss, chained to this ancient machine? Is the passenger at a loss, for being stuffed into the back of the plane with hundreds of others, stinking their way to the cabin. All dancing in line to get to the only toilet in the plane.

No, surely the toilet has the worst job.

Fruition

Two plants recognize that they can only throw their life force short distances, so they grow fruit as an idea to use the animals to help spread the seed. The first plant spends less energy in making its fruit, and more on the seeds. The bountiful influence of the seeds was lightly draped in a thin skin of mush,

This fruit from the first plant is eaten by a monkey. The monkey gets a stomachache from the fruit, has trouble passing the seeds, and decides to try fruit from the second plant. The second plant spent more energy in making the fruit extra sweet for the monkey to enjoy, and made sure that the seeds were not too big, and wouldn’t get stuck. The latter plant’s seeds were spread over a greater distance than the former.

Dancing
Along the wild mountain road,
the smell
of crisp lavender
fills the air

Birds chirp overhead,
guiding me home
Rays of sunshine peek
through a tunnel
of whispering green,
A warm breeze
from the lake wafts over me,
Freedom

Trapped like a dog in a cage, I’ve gotta ****.

My water bowl is half full, and my bladder feels like it’s gonna explode.

I chug down the last of the water to empty the bowl, so I can fill it to the brim with my ****.

I feel relieved, and I’m glad that I won’t be laying in my own ****.

Hours pass, and I begin to thirst, and my bladder feels full again. Going back to the water bowl, I’m ******.

Dancing strays and toe jam

I met you when we were on the run. We were running from our own tails. You had your boundaries, and I had mine. Our rhythm was off, and our mistakes were like broken toenails after a night of misstepped drunken dancing. We should have slowed, learned each other’s rhythm, and set aside time for our feet to heal. But we pushed on, running from our own tails, never letting our toenails heal.

Taking my hands off the bull’s horns, I let the beast breathe for a minute to cool down. I can feel the steam pumping through the giant’s lungs. The animal shudders. It’s feeding time.

Jumping off the motorcycle, and landing at the foot of a high octane pump, I turn around and open the fuel cap, only to find it’s bone dry. Curses. Feeding the pump plastic, I convince it to share a dram with my mechanical gorilla.

Have you ever looked at a tree?

With her branches spiraling upward with glee.
She grows her arms in Fibonacci coils, just like the stars above her fertile soils.
Look how her arms raise up into the sky, balanced for wind, ready to fly.


Her leaves, constantly turning, yearning for the sun’s burning love.
Delicately twisting each branch, to match the rhythm of the dancing fireball above.
Opening her arms to greet the warming sun, she produces flowers, and the bees hum.

Untamed Energy
You’re a supersonic missile. Like a shark, it’s hard for you to turn; but your speed is ballistic. Aim high. You have so much power behind you. The launch may not have been great, but you have plenty of fuel to get to space.

I’m in the middle of the ocean,
Swimming on my back,
You’re up above, in the sky, tethered to a balloon,
You let down a rope,
I grab on,
You start flying up,
Soon, I’m dozens of feet above the water.
If I don’t let go now, we’ll be too high up, and the fall will hurt.
Balloons pop at a certain altitude.

Have you ever been in the incorrect wavelength of communication? It’s like when you’re on the phone with someone and there is a delay every time someone speaks.

Here’s an example:

They fedex lactose feral *** poles oh they cooled ****.

The mind is capable of retrieving information. This is axis x. The body is capable of making chemical reactions. This is axis y. But, axis z is not measurable. Axis z can make you feel incredible things without moving an inch.
Have you ever had so much energy from hearing just one word that you felt like you were gonna **** your pants? That buzzy energy that makes the skin warm. That hum that hits you in the chest like a bus, and takes all the air out of your lungs. There’s a word that can make you cry with happiness or sadness. There’s a name that can transport your mind somewhere far away. They are just words, babbled up by an ancient tongue to differentiate one thing from another. But, the energy that the words conjure is something magical. The shape of that feeling is indescribable. It’s the most powerful thing that humans have.

The waves crash into me. I’m pushed deeper into the heart of the ocean. The pressure is unbearable. The waves let up, I feel my body’s trajectory slow its downward decent. I almost feel like my buoyancy is neutral now. Am I alive?

Does the booming club music drown the sound of your sorrow and conscious?

Fibonacci Fantasy

Did I ever tell you about the psychedelic trip I had where I shrank down to the size of an atom and explored my body from the inside like a new world? One vivid part of the experience was where I was driving a red blood cell through the arterial interstate. We were flowing through the tubes like a pack of wild horses splitting off at each exit ramp. I remember how beautiful it was that everything was transported from a central, omnipresent place. I saw how as I grew, my cells expanded from every direction like the universe, cultivating the in between spaces from smaller universes. A perfectly planned miniature world. It’s the same thing at the atomic level too. Just a different scenery. Solar bodies act the same way as inside your body. The world is the collective consciousness of our dna. Trees and cars have hearts and pump fluid to a rhythmic hum of Fibonacci.

1 problem at a time

Rock climbers call routes up a sheer cliff face, “problems” because when you are up in the air, ***** to the wall, your next move is your next problem. Now that’s poetry.