"Jesus, son of Stada, is the Jesus, son of Pandira?"

Rav Hisda said, "The husband was Stadia and the lover was Pandora. His name was Spartacus & her name was Pythia."

"But was not the husband Nicodemus, son of Socrates and the mother Juno?"

"No. His mother was Raet-Tawy, who let her hair grow long and was called Maccabees." Maacah says about her: "She was unfaithful to her husband."

"But what of the roots of his tree?"

"The fruit that you see be not enough?"

"What of that which still eludes me?"

Do you still wonder?

a mystic queen of clouds
stirring her golden mixing ***.
arms reaching up in crowds,
heads and legs getting caught.
she fully douses the creatures
in the prismatic solutions,
giving them distinct features
and eccentric attributions.
one by one they climb the ladle,
making neat rows of eight
up on the big smokey table.
her tiny whispers seal their fate.
making hexes, casting spells.
her eyes satisfied yet sharp.
off you go! she gracefully yells
as her novice sounds the harp.
wings of glass burst out their backs.
the creatures scared of its source
yet they mindlessly grab an axe
their monarch has her faithful force.

Many armed & many mighty,
A congregation of heads
Taking countless different faces.
As like the nine-tailed fox
Or the regenerative hydra,
Like a whisper from a daimon or seraph.
What an elusive cast overseeing this dominion,
In & out there, everywhere.
Those related to physics,
As like inertia & momentum.
To width & to volume.
Time & energy.
The biological & inert systems.
In the scatterings & distributions
And in the combinations & coalescences,
The raindrop to the puddle.
Islands among the sea,
All with some pulse or vibration
And a resonate frequency.
The chain-reactions at lengths which,
By our perspective,
Span seemingly in excession of infinity.
We are flickering candles
Cursed to decipher dripping wax,
Tracking the days of oil left.
We are pollen to by used by the colony
To construct & fortify the hive,
To feed the young.
Who are we to pick the flower
Thinking it will make us blossom?
To eat of the peach, to pick the apple,
But discard the seed
And rob another's potential?
To burn the bush & brush,
Drain the wetlands,
And sow devastation.
Eviction of the natives off their land
After the destruction of their homes.
What is man not, if not an animal?
What is a man, if not an animal?
What then is an animal if there is not some thought which bares resemblance to such a concept?
And if so; since we are made up of that which is organic in nature,
Metallic, and mineral-
It is not outside the realm of possibility
That other such forms of matter
Could indeed be capable.
Without the pretext of plausibility;
Like Eudoxus, in the disparity between
Correctly framing concentric spheres
And mistakenly claiming geocentricism.
It's a big world we know of
And a much larger universe.
Do plants scream
At the pain of a leaf torn?
Do trees look after their neighbors?
Likewise then, there is such constraint,
As like a straight jacket,
In that total adherence
To thought subjugated to concept
Looking for definition & context
Without daring inference or experimentation.
We'll get some things accurate
Even if there are missteps or failures,
But it's imperative we recognize them.
Thumbing around the galaxies
Searching for an answer
To the question of purpose,
But you're right where you stand.
I'm not sure how this started,
Exactly how this began,
And my memory of the journey
Is like that of the end.
If I were a captain,
If I were a white whale.
Cut the nets,
Ditch the harpoons,
Raise anchor,
Break sail.
If I were master,
If I moved to Bremen.
I'd scratch with claws,
Bare teeth & bite,
Kick with hoove,
Give chase & crow.

Were it that I could remember.

He stands upon a stalk of grain,
Rested atop a leaf,
Balanced on the branch of a tree,
Nestled on the back of an amphibian
Four who salute longevity.

She comes as a breeze,
Graceful & gently.
As like spring blossoms
She extends an offering,
Ripe & sweet
Is the fruit of her peach.

Those given to fanfare of the stork;
Who hold nature, like the cosmos, sacred
And celebrate its different changes & forms.

i feel like the weight of my world
is on my shoulders,
a self-inflicted
Atlas curse.

my actions
are coming back
to knock me down
and crush my resolve.

i'm so close.

so close to getting everything fixed.

and i push the boulder
up the hill as Sisyphus did.

but every time i near the zenith,
i make one small misstep,
and everything slips from my hands,
rolling me flat again.

mere assignments
feel like labours of Hercules,
impossible trials,
with the intent of divine punishment.

if i slay the Hydra,
will i pass english class?

I wanna run to you in an airport
Like they do in 90s romance movies
Because I miss you and
I’ve been away from home for two years

I want to sit on the beach and explain the landscape that
You know better than I do
In the language it was originally loved in, that
You never bothered to learn

Why would you?
You dip your feet shallowly
Into the water instead of dunking yourself
Like I do, down up down up down
Because you’ll be back tomorrow
And I’ll spend fractions of me

Waiting for a call or a text
For 20 bucks to send you
To breathe plumeria-scented air
From the oil on the skin of your neck
For a picture of the freckles on the webbing

between your index and thumb, and the ring
That I bought you before I left so that in the pictures
you post with your white boyfriend
I’m there on your finger

So when he’s teaching you the ‘local’ lifestyle
I’m there on your finger
So when you island hop for a surfing class
You keep me on your finger, where I can feel the waves.

I want to come home but I can’t, not before
I buy you a new ring, out here
in the empty expanse of a Where’s Waldo puzzle
It has to be

Something expensive, something durable
That won’t tarnish in the island
humidity, something that your
San-Francisco friends will ooh and ahh at
Because I want to see you wearing it when I get home.

I’ve been away from home for fifteen years
I return in my dreams, but the soil
doesn’t feel right, and the love isn’t how
my mother’s father’s father described it

At the beach, lots of people swim, but no one else
Keeps their head under and lets the water breathe life into their hair.
Lets the water into their mouth, chokes, then does it again.
But I like the way you

Dipped your feet in when you watched me
Leave, on a boat chasing Troy
Venus my northern star
As I enter the storm

My boat floats through the violence,
against Poseidon’s abundant will
because my sail made up of duct-taped exam scores
And half-organized sermons
Is mightier than any of his sons

I’ve been away since 700 BCE
But you’ll still know me when I come home

I wonder what Icarus felt like
when he tried to touch the face of the sun
and rub his hands on the sun’s cheek bones
only for the sun to reject him from trying to reach its throne
I sympathize with Daedalus grief
when he tried to warn his son from the dangers of confronting the giver of light
then watching his sons' wings fail him
When they both flapped their waxy wings
they both had visions
of where they want to go
Daedalus wanted to seek a place where their freedom would not be taken away
while Icarus wanted to fly
he wanted to soar with the clouds
and migrate with the birds
he wanted to reach where the golden gates were placed
and hold the embrace of God between his fingers
but the sun refused this
the sun took Icarus wings and clipped them
removing every feather that was sewn onto the wings Daedalus made for him
the hot wax pulling Icarus down to the depths of the earth

I imagine what Icarus had to conclude
when during the fall he then realizes
how this was going to be the last thing he will experience
before his body hits the sea
drowning from the great ocean currents
which took his last breath
I can picture what Daedalus must have saw
when he saw his son falling into the arms of death carrying him down below
knowing that even though Icarus was able to fly in that moment
that cause led to his demise

O Selene, th’ dawn of thee, so begets th’ writ of woe.
As day retreats, for repose ‘t seeks, so comes thy ancient glow.
Of burnishéd gold, and shimmering tones, and evokes a fecund mood.
Thus, to thy beauty a song, celestial one, goddess who weeps for erstwhile love.

Anew Selene, call I to thee, she who dwells above.
E’en mortals ‘neath, too share thy grief, strangers not to anguished *****.
So too we plead may love not cease ev'n as parts Earthly form.
Ere finality proceeds, ‘fore life’s fugacity, do I take to verse solemn.

Aye, dolefully I sing, mid the reign of e’en.
How the nightly hour doth conjure lament.
And though th’ heavens are replete with th’ color of ebony.
Embosomed am I by august luminescence.

O Mother of seas, Muse of th’ Greeks.
Predilect of th’ Romantics.
Anon Apollo shall greet th’ skies with light abounding.
Yet, will I await the return of thy presence.

Goddess of harvests
calls out from wheat fields waving —
Heavy clouds marching

I scream so silently
That the voice is loud
Enough that others might hear,
In this state like a snake
My tongue is forked
So that when I speak
I am having multiple conversations
Slithering across many fields.
Like the ocean tortoise laying eggs
Ever near the shore,
My children join me in the waters
Only after they have fully formed.
You say,
Nature is yet cruel
And shall lay claim
To many of your young.
And yet,
Is it not nature who spawned them?