there's a paradise in the way you say my name
   or she says my name or he says my name
syllables crashing like head on car collision or train wheels wrestling with the tracks
one time i brought back a starfish from the ocean
hiding it in my sweater pocket
it soaked all the way onto my pants into the upholstery of my father's old car and everyone pretended they didn't see
maybe it wasn't even there, maybe i wasn't there
sometimes ghosts would follow me i would end up breathing on the glass and leaving impressions as proof
of existing, of understanding what it meant to live with the living

getting home, unearthing my discovery in the bathtub
but there was only a thud, an ugly crash on the resin
the fiberglass making the death inhabitable
i wanted you so much you turned to stone
a hard shell of what i found so beautiful i could cry but there wasn't even a yell
ignore me and ill love you forever
i picked you up, cradled on both my palms but the keepsake was in the lesson
a memento of solitary moments waiting
shrivel up

my father found me or maybe it was my mother or maybe it was nobody and i picked myself up silent  
into the backyard where i dug until my fingers hurt, until my hands knew the brittleness of rhythm
i might have never stopped until i reached some kind of closure or maybe magma, a molten crust of hell i had missed before
my jeans dirt-stained and my face red from scratching bugs that weren't really there
maybe we met at the wrong time, maybe there's never a right time for anything
you reach certain points and then head back in the other direction
you bleed until it's time to reach for the band-aids in the medicine cabinet and call it healing
maybe i'll never know some things
never figure out questions that still tap on my windowsill demanding to be answered or asked in the first place
and i think i can fit comfortably in that, in this

{a mind game during intermission}

there were reveries recorded while telling the tale.
the teller was taken up, some say,
at the throne, say others,
in the spirit, others still

thy will be don on earth as in heaven was bound to be done

once, upon a time, very similar to this one. We had clocks aware of all we counted or qua n-tuple times pi is as fine a guess
as ever has been made, since the first fortythree.

We have so many things in common. Tuples and Hitchens survival for one,
and I have my integrity integrated despite the ergotic episode of daring/

[
A property of continuous dynamical systems that is the opposite of ergodicity is complete integrability.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergodic_theory> ]
]

What? You missed that? I dared you.

do you feel odd? irrational? pyramidic-pi-eyed?

Wait, we need a date,
then, we syn crow own, oh god the hieroglyphs include all types of idle words

we need order, C# or, no, no, no
all things are possible
this is the quarkish

conclusion.

Play again, kid?

Ice caps
Mushrooms with frost on their mycelium
The ceiling of the earth tearing,
Dropping liquid ****** to give quick interest

Outside the planets twirl and explode from small rocks
Impact like pebbles on a great salt lake
The ripples of death create movement
Momentous Momentum

Violative but oh so real
Not too kind but who needs to be
Break down walls and streets and building facades
Say hey, bullets of mind should try again,
Hit something new, slit the hole of older jeans

Plop your tetrapedes between the planet matter and look good for once
Clean unwashed blue and painful on the junk


These favorites are just irises, asking to see themselves selfish and alone
Always alone in the body of god
Always a single cell in the larger overall
Pull-ups and getting down to work
Unsheathed from sleeves and lost in only the most bare of skins

Speaking to the lovers of Horus, seeking sunlight between the zippers of their minds

Rings out the bells, love, death, destruct
All the conscious constructions of the mind

Always of the mind

Never in divine

Broken Light,
  shattered nights,
My blight with which I dance and weave.

To and fro,
   my wonderlust flows.
My fascination with the fight.


The shortest distance between peace and I,

Is through Hell.

~Robert van Lingen

Ah,
the attention I paid
you paid
I meant
these were the last lines

Worthy one, I paid too dear
truth to tell, when no truths were mine.
Seek.
I sought.
Ask.
I asked.
Knock.
I knocked.

Enter into the joy of the being who governs you.
Whose kingdom we have made ready,
into tu corazon, eh.
Where a man's core is, there's where
the dragon guards the hoard,
until,

the hero in your mythtical meander

Wise ***, as an actor in my play, is your roll real?
Am I mad, or are you a mind
I imagine answering me
because you saw the
angel with the sword?

Jesus. Really, that was the door I knocked on.
He opened.

And long ago, a quest was taken,
is my first answer a lie?

What is the sound of one hand clapping?
Every gaijin's first koan

The answer found in the sound
of one hand clapping is
in the sound
each makes
as each claps

swish, swing, and a miss,
that one hand was not clapping, or
the other would have helped.

Clapping calls for both hands,
to clap, neither asks the other,
stop me from failing to
clap
instant
instantiation
imagination, see the sound
made,
the effect one hand
clapping with another and
meeting
in the middle of the motion
makes
the sound of one hand clapping
The intention to make this sound
calls another hand
to clap along
so,
sing a song, appraise the worth
of knowing the sound
balanced against making
this sound of one hand clapping,
keeping time
to swishpering shuffling feet
dancing in the sands

a value scale must balance on a point,
weight and worth must meet
at that Hermetical metal river side
Twixt all of this in all o'that.

point made and taken.

Is this the meta game?
Your next koan.

What is the measure of worth?

In the oceans full of water, I'll find you!
In the sky full of clouds, I'll find you!
But in the crowd of some feelings, You've to find me!