it comes from smaller places
no larger places
alien places
the interactions of plates
the fluxing potentials of shapes
different values are applied
different apples then we die
one big apple in the sky.

My true feelings are obscured by pure bitter intellection.
My brain is the main heretic of my soul.
My thoughts… I know them well.
To each his own cognomen but yet I am confused.
Auto-Da-Fe…
But that won't work.

When I try to fathom I break.
And when I behold myself I shake.
No matter what I do, I will be held beneath the rest.
Because a sane person would help himself.
What's worse is that I know better but yet…
Perfidy…
I used to trust myself.

That’s why I write.
That’s why I write in a way that leaves all doubt behind.
Because that's how I clear my mind.
My condition hold's a banner that reads "Don’t Stop!"
But my conscience feels the need to make me be a better version of me.
So I will stop. Eventually…
Procrastination turns into never.

I am on my death bed now.
Toroidal chains erupt from thin air around me.
They tighten their grip around me in lento.
I hear a crescendo.
My sense of hearing finally decodes the glass that just fell from my hand.
I don’t see a grim reaper or Baphomet anywhere.
That gives me a little solace…
The end is near and once again, after all this time,
All I can think about is…
"What if?" ...

Breathing expands the
belly and the roots

At the top of the head
contracts the greater force

Extends into the toroidal
field until they resonate

A little higher, a little tone
sharpener, a little lquiet

shattering star sand
brethren of titan
our time strewn vast
as toroidal force immortal

innocence radiance
vast perfect imperfections
an experience to observe
share and endure
continuously help host and forgive
for no mistake is a new one

together shattered stars
like sand on a beach
forever drifting with the tides
a moon dance in a dream

or perhaps a bagel
with sesames scattered like stars
or a dry-roast well
shelled with clay
I will not be filled
with nuts or cake
nor love or science
for I am empty
and silent.

And the universe is too
a toroidal void devoid of life
spare our transactions
of nuts for shells
nulled as astronauts
pass the transmit limit

How the sun flashes
on copper pennies splashing
wishes in water.

Up here
saturn's rings
are all but nut shells
far flung from jets
which fly by mars at sunset.

I long for the pure
hydrogen at a star’s heart
to melt the iron
though my thoughts float
with hot gas I forget
we are seeds of the future
funnels of becoming
me and the universe
empty packets
with full stomachs.