there’s a great divide -
between the anatomy of my brain,
and the fluidity of my mind;
i struggle to make the crossover,
for i must advance in phases
in between their flimsy makeovers:
in, and out -
then back in again.
the brain is humbled by its own mortality;
the mind boasts of an eternal life;
both petrified by rancid thoughts
of yesterday -
and the day before that -
and the month before that -
and the years before…

as i regress -
slowly, and infinitely -
i long for my natal mind,
and a tougher cranium.

Webs of stories form beliefs,
influencing actions,
creating a concept of me—
until I become myth.

A synthesis of cells,
speaking electric tongues,
a possession of matter
by patterns that think.

Through a brain and a spine
and everything between,
a unity emerges:
scattered fragments
woven whole.

Interactions form bonds,
all the way up, all the way down.
Outside and within:
culture consuming society,
society consuming self.

Self devours body,
body devours mind,
biology consumes chemistry,
chemistry consumes physics,
down to quantum foam.

'loneliness is a tax you have to pay to atone for a certain complexity of mind.'

                                     - Alain de Botton.

a fistful of wishes
is all i have:
if i let go, i’m afraid
they’ll wither away,
like dandelion petals
on the back of a rescue dog;
if i hold on too long,
I’m afraid -
they’ll crumble -
like my illusions of being.

the fist gets tighter;
and i’m still waiting -
for the punchline.

i can feel the weight,
on my tongue -
of a heart so heavy,
and a mind so young;
i cannot say -
why i went this way;
i do not know, how to
get off the causeway:

on one end, there’re facts;
though verified, and true -
on the other end, lie feelings,
i never really knew -
i had buried so deep,
i failed to see them through;
the facts - do not change,
but the feelings - they do.

i promised not to rely too much
on one way, or the other;
now i’m stuck, biding my time,
reflecting on shallow waters:
i look, long and hard, and see -
the feelings start to resurface;
but in fact, i see -
a herring’s carcass - floating -
so still, and perfect.

a shadow streaks across my face -
i brace myself for, just in case -
i feel it looming - heinously close;
in fact, it’s an eagle;
i step aside - clear the way:  
the eagle tucks its wings
for a nosedive;
it wants the herring -
dead or alive:
it takes what it wants,
leaves nothing behind -
neither facts, nor feelings;
only ripples of lies.

I cannot tell you
The remedy to your emptiness,
But I can share with you
That of a treatment of mine.
It can be hearing of progress
On any front
In the forms of beautiful ideas
And new expressions,
The world of us humans.
Of newfound love
In many kinds of companionship
Whether by person or by animal,
Or even by plant.
Of new discovery
Which betters our understanding
About the fundamentals of the universe,
Like walking in the wild;
Cherishing all that is natural.

Being a humble observer
In the courts of law
Under honorable nature.

Just by being an animal.

In the boundless skies above, where stars in silence gleam,

We are made of heaven’s breath, in every heart’s true dream.

Born of cosmic stardust, in the tapestry of night,

We carry the celestial spark, within our inner light.

In the laughter of the morning, in the whisper of the breeze,

Heaven’s touch resides within, in moments such as these.

Through the trials and the triumphs, in joy and in despair,

We find the traces of the stars, in all we do and share.

Our spirits are but echoes, of a universe so grand,

We are made of heaven’s grace, by nature’s gentle hand.

In every act of kindness, in every loving glance,

We reveal the threads of heaven, in our human dance.

We are more than flesh and bone, more than earthbound clay,

We are born of endless skies, in the light of a new day.

In our dreams and aspirations, in the love we freely give,

We are made of heaven’s wonder, in each moment that we live.

So let us shine with all our might, let our spirits soar,

For we are made of heaven’s heart, forever and evermore.

In the vast expanse of life, where stars and souls align,

We are made of heaven’s essence, in the depths of the divine.

i could tell the time at an early age;
yet, i could never tell the misery
of the hour hand of the clock -
that lies in wait...
for what i imagine,
must feel like an eternity,
at the mercy of the minute hand
to finish a full round -
as it is, in turn,
at the mercy of the second hand;
only to move but a
fraction of an inch on its axis:  
so it can be worthy of its name.

surely, it’s the loneliest of
the three hands;
yet, perhaps, also the wisest -
for it knows what’d happen
if it ceases to move -
even for an hour, as it were.
you see, the illusion of a moving clock
is maintained only by the hour hand.
the minute hand could stop for a minute -
and we wouldn’t mind much;
the second hand could stop for a second -
no harm done;
but if the hour hand stops for an hour -
well, we’d notice.

i can never really tell the time now;
just the hour in which i exist.

I’m told that I’m a dream produced
by time and space and DNA, that’s organized in such a way
that chemistry and physics are enough to make it dream,
so let’s accept that really there’s no ghost in the machine.

But still it seems that I exist, and isn’t it amazing dreams
can interact with other dreams,
do calculus and higher math,
gaze at the stars, make art, make love,
investigate it all and find
we’re just another accident of chemistry and space and time.

Disregard anything I say.
Write and write
Philosophical ideas
Opinions, contradictions
Fake news and constrictions
The river and forest, love and emotion
Printing with thought and handling devotion
Conquering the pen and the art of life
Relatable hatred, melancholy, strife.
Yes, the worldly things are all accounted for
But what of the things we don’t already know?
Have you thought about that?
Anything different from the words of our poems
Not the unknown but farther past that,
Have you thought?
Something that contradicts the very laws of the lead from a pencil
Or keys on a computer
Far behind relatable, or history.
Far ahead of imagination
Have you thought?
No, few minds have gone past the supposed boundaries humanity has set forth for everyone on earth.
Try to think of a new color
A new smell
A new taste,
Indifferent from anything you’ve already experienced.
Think, think!
Or can you not, has your brain failed you?
Try again;
Think of the sky if it was not
Or the sun if it was the sky
But green
And filled with leaves from the autumn wind
If it was not wind
Think of not as if it was sure
And grasp hold of possibilities
If they were tiny pebbles in your hand.
Break the barrier, if you dare
But I bet you are already making assumptions in your mind
“Impossible” “Crazy” “Nope”
These walls will only build taller.
But break through them, I know you can’t, but try. Try anyway.
Or disregard anything I say.
Make new, whatever it means to you.