chemical elevation.
we discussed myth entourage -
my father’s idea of myth is halted
when his own legacy comes into play -
she says it’s out the door,
I say it just walked out bigger,
maybe, but it’s just
good car conversation,
no greek allowed.

seek the chemical elevation.
the sky cog burning wheels
howling in the night with the meek.
Dreams become blisters,
beacons become road signs,
we skip leg days,
AI skips darwinism
and peer-reviews poems.

We’re building a boat
against the sea,
the wood from the old one has age rot
and lost its heart
to the bucolics of the captain.

Autumn again,
as expected.

The old are gone,
and now their hubris burns
on our youthful years.

The weight of spring is light.
One day, we'll remember it
and share a laugh.

I have the soul of a drunk.

Her legs spread out,
all silence and no heart.

Sometimes home comes to mind.

Standing in marble awe,
contemplating this winter night,
my soul searching continues,
ruining the age of another wine.

Walk with me, in the maze park.
The north will settle,
we'll light another cigar.

Here lies, optional,
my emotional litter -
the tiredness of
walking over water
and taking over the sins.

Paying no mind to this finite state -
the gone moment of our walk
lingering on the shoulders
of my solitude.

See, these are simple equations,
and they are my solace -
the exciting unknown
divided by knowledge.

This is dawn setting on someones window,
yet to bloom, yet to rise.

There’s no crime
in writing.

It has always been here:
the thrill of choosing the words
that benefit other words the most.

There’s a simple rule in writing
(maybe the only 1):
A thought comes out
and hopefully, when written down,
turned into strings of words,
the idea it provides may
provoke
an exciting way of
seeing the world.

Sometimes it happens.
Sometimes, it never does.

To some, words are enough.
Others need music or imagery.

I guess to each his own
and that might serve the truth
that we, each of us, are
Unique
and that in our
Differences
we get excited by our own
Differences,
which in turn provide us of our own
Uniquenesses.

But whatever:
I say what I say, at the end of the day.
And your judgement
is your own.

Still, truth be told,
no harm done
in letting it all out,
all at once.

To me,
words are this:
the perimeter of reason.

And if you solve the puzzle
and order them correctly,
you can calculate the area
of the entire universe,

and no more will you be lost
in its complex mysteries.

I remember the most beautiful moment of my life.
I couldn't have been 4.

Everybody was gathered in the park,
a gathering to watch the sunset
and there was music playing.

This was a single moment lost in the 90s fever:
The singer had just died,
and I think we were celebrating his poetry
or his clinginess to life.

But at the same time, nobody was talking about it.
There was just silence and the sunset -
a meaningless collection of sensations
to all but a childish mind.

I've since tried to talk to some of the people I reckon were there,
but none of them recall any of it happening.

They would have me believe
the best moment of my life
was a dream.