I have the shape of the institution.
Each email address is a human.

They are known by their words and actions.
The whole wide world is just a fraction

of all I do not know. Expansion
and contraction, breathe in, out, meditation

on existence, non-existence, creation
and duration. I have no explanation

for fusion, fission, taxonomic relations
or artificial classification.

More I do not know: locomotion
by combustion, electron separation

and transportation via superconduction
which supports the idea of the unified nation.

What girls are like behind their eyes. *******
a useful restraint on overpopulation.

The story of a life, my life, any life, cohesion
must be rationed, conjured, a fiction

about a vexed, tenacious town, its rail station
truck stop, high school, night spots, recreations

the temporary citizens enact visions
dream-like orations, ballets, conflagrations

to in the end receive in annals honorable mention
from family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, institutions.

RNA or DNA polymerase, an enzyme, protein, attracted to
promoter molecules in the polypeptide chain causing a zipper
motion and transcription of the code, a duplication of codons,
introns and exons, and so it goes, sharing and unsharing electrons.

These attractions and repulsions, coming near and going far
in nanounits or light years, fail to explain things permanently
but make possible the technology to live long and well, with
      personality.
It is a form of governance, the governance of elements, elements are
      now

apparently our gods. Learn all you can about their laws, their names,
their needs, read their poems. Only the mentally unusually sound
      would,
given this knowledge, agree to the process of mitosis and fertilization.
      However,
organisms go round then senseless via involuntary respiration.
      Therefore, Pilot Oh Pilot Me.

i fear for you shant understand

exactly what i mean to say

i do not want to die my love



i just want to go away

Ya no sé que escribir, no encuentro esa forma tan universalmente conocida de por lo menos describir mi entorno, es como si algo se hubiera ido, esfumado, desaparecido. Frotándome la cabeza, dando vuelta por la habitación, inhalando lo ultimo de mi "Chicharrita" en la pipa de mi abuela, entro en la parte superficial de mis pensamientos y puedo darme cuenta de lo que pasa pero al entender que no sé que es lo que esta pasando caigo en la cuenta de que todo es intangible, todo esta lleno de una esencia especifica que lo hace ser lo que es pero no es lo que nuestra aproximación categórica define. Un árbol, porque es un árbol, quien lo llamo árbol, que es un árbol? es simple definirlo, decir que un árbol es eso o aquello, pero quiero definir la esencia del árbol, cual es esa esencia, de donde viene.

you ask me whats wrong
i explain how you hurt me
you yell at me
i apologize

They sit it a box
Under the bed,
Waiting to be opened,
Waiting to be fed.
And to their dismay,
Well, I hope they understand
I can never see them
Or hold them in my hand.
Oh, I left them there on purpose
With a hope but to disguise
The real pull within me
The truth to realize.
I wish I could explain
Just tell them oh but once
I shoved them there in earnest
And it must stay as such.
They cannot hope to comprehend,
Those broken memories,
That everything they now hold
Was once you and me.
                                           tsk

We're vague as **** lovers.
What do you mean?
Doesn't matter who said it.
The answer is a riddle anyhow.

Gone it seems are the days when I would structure words with grace.
A perfect place for them to stay,
To say what I need to display.
I struggle hard to find a way,
To keep the evil thoughts at bay.
The ones that threaten to destroy
and scream promises to take.
And the longer I live in their wake,
The more it seems I'm not awake.
This is a dream, I'm far away.
The nightmares chase,
I am disgraced.
They see the fear so clear on my face.
I break.
I know I cannot be ok.
They have all of me, those ******* snakes!
They promised me an artistic state!
So I could orchestrate my voice across this page.
I've traded everything for this,
I've lost my happiness.
To make these words sit, so beautifully primped.
To impress blank faces, I'm tired of this!
So imagine for just a moment,
A person sitting ever so lonely.
He writes what he writes,
While he fights with the light,
The one that shows all of your demons that hide out of sight,
And he cries.
Because the world seen is beautiful in his eyes.
But not from naivety,
He knows so well the horrid underside.
But he loves it.
What would he write about otherwise?
He needs it.
What else could inspire his mind?
He craves it.
All while it eats him alive.
Is addiction to sadness any less potent than madness?
I didn't choose this!
What's to gain?
Words in exchange for sane
Thoughts in my brain I can't explain.
Maybe I won't ever be able to.