so last night i was kicking rocks at reality-
trying to flip the entire universe like a pancake
but the moon laughed at my fruitless toil
for the universe exists in paradox-
and in my night watch
i dug into the soil
and ended up on the shoulders
of our planet
watching
her inhabitants try to make sense
of imperceptible subjects
such as why
who has sealed
all things within her palms
to bar philosophers
who have made gods of reason
i dare to worship
existence-
to be smothered in the
beauty of what is
and is
with or without description.
and so i look inward to quest(ions)
which are themselves, answers-
as i am a universe.

Say it to me, baby,

that you want me—still—
after all that I've done to you,
and only.
    
I hear you breathing out hot
—lying flattened on the cold floor—
even after the hard bruisin'

you've gone through—swell, sure it was.

And I wrecked such havoc on you
all because I care for you,
nothing more, nothing less.

I beat you up swell
to get you in a better shape
just like a sculptor

beating his stone
into the shape of David—bare naked.
I'm modern Michelangelo, so to say,

and I want you
to whisper to me
that you crave me,

    that you desire still
    such tyranny of mine
    even more. So just say it,

for your perfection
and a sheer thrill that follows
—all these right at our hands—are so close.

    Wicked as it is,
    my whispering to you demands it.

I shoved the absurdity into the woodpile
The fire was crackling and raging
Licking the bottom of the *** that is already worn
Demons and ghosts and phantoms of people who went crazy are dancing inside
Why are you moving it, how tiring!
The cat in the room asked
Why don't you join us, how stupid!
Red ***** on the chopping board asked
No, I said, no
I used ridiculousness to pile firewood higher
The fire will not go out in nine hundred and ninety-one days
I'm going to use this fire to cook, bathe and change clothes

Why should you study?
And persevere? And listen?
And write? For people--
For the people you'll see, for there are just
few you'll. And still fewer among them, who
will be around to see you.

In a makeshift heaven of this world,
This world fits right in- not without gaps,
Not the best close-packing ever.
Which lets you think and shift the pieces forever.

Not at all exciting, if you want to
See it that way. But do you have a choice--
Except all the the ones you haven't tried
already? Hinged to the far side of moon
You might be, but wither you'll soundlessly
off this grand tree. So a fair chance there is
you might see, where this is going and realize soon: You won't know if science has advanced, You won't know if you've made enough amends, You won't know anything
except for the people you'll see, even what they've to say, you've to understand.

How did I get here?
Did I build this place?
I'm on the highest cliff
Gazing down towards the skyline
The skyscrapers move like trains
Bound for regions unknown
Do they ever stop?
Where do they end up?

Oh, Shadowmare,
I ride on your back,
please charge forward for god's sake.

Hopping over squares like a maniac,
oh please,
you're making me giddy alright.

Only at the outpost,
will you be satisfied,
horsing around playing mind games.

On the hill,
the enemy in fear, asking,
what's the stallion doing up here.

Soon the enemy king choked,
and died of a heart attack,
We won the war,
after all.

I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
Even wisemen dare to try
Reason’s gambrels to enchain

Though,
When this pulp falls on the leaves
And by liters floods the streets
We shall dance under these drops
While we sing grotesque swift songs

I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
We no longer can remain
Dry

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
To admire their deity,
with empty smiles
Lives on trial.
Lives in denial.

From people to clothes
movies and shows
Communication stripped vacant of what we all know.

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
Robbed of beauty.
Blind to earth.
but what is there to see,
when all you see is dirt?

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
eyes magnetized to their devices,
pulling their faces to their vices.
With glossy eyes
fueled by bitter lies
internalized to home.
But still to claim
no better relationship,
Than between man and phone.