For millennia awaited when appeared crucified
For millennia warned when appeared worshipped
The voice of history, prophetic truths, if perceived
Past and Future, symmetrical, and mutually imaged
A thing and an anti-thing, similar but opposed
Not repeatable science nor philosophical dialecticism
But a reversal of time, a humanly difficult reality
As we look only ahead as we walk the same way
Forward and backward, each way different to the eyes

physically I have no symmetry
and it doesn’t even bother me
my physical state is electrical
and internally I am symmetrical

a love so big it's my counterpart
symmetrically matching my flesh parts
an existence created as a work of art
able to outsmart any black heart

understanding this duality
is the best of you loving the best of me
and I believe you will get there eventually
to your own symmetrical mentality

a breeze scatters the ashes from my cigarette
all over my legs and onto the ground
now they make tiny mountains of rubble
along with burning villages where it's lights out
before their inhabitants could even think
of worshipping the sun

parting lovers never have much to say
but i think i'll write their names somewhere
and forge my signature on a love letter meant
for an ocean that is inexhaustibly rocking
while cursing the moon for always pushing it away
when it's just trying to fill her craters

the spoils of history go towards making
impermanent things permanent on things
impermanent like the arms of those unknown
and like my backpack swallowing pens
maybe it wouldn't happen if we stopped
romanticizing the ink

my body falls in pieces from the heavens while
you're on earth mingling with the best of them
and it's not until halfway through a cosmopolitan
that you realize you forgot to catch me and
now the ants on the ground are getting stuck
on a love that could have been

have you ever noticed the shape of hearts
gives them a symmetry that makes them
capable of being folded and neatly tucked away
out of all the people you've met in your life
how many of them would you reach in your pocket
and unfold one for

if there's a reason i've melted it's because
my cigarette tastes an awful lot like you

I. The Beginning
In September she gave you a name
That came with weights and burdens
To break into.
Straightforwardly, you marched them.
As if it were the only thing to do.

II. The Middle
Four miles beyond the confines,
You left in the morning to gather the water.
I was told somewhere along the way you
Fell in love with the aftermath of a line,
And began a new life in its crooked symmetry.

III. The End
I don’t know if she hoped for a life of grace,
or love, mercy, or passion.
Regardless, it is all ok somehow.
There is something to knowing that, when it is over, we may go forward
And start afresh in the broken ranks.