in theory
warmth on a warm day
shouldn't be what i want

but locked into you
holding on for dear life
while my toes barely
touch the floor
sweat is sweet

i hold the heat
my hands damp
my eyes wide for lack of light

if you are summer
melt the ice that lingers on my riverbed
guide the snowmelt down between my banks
i don't want to be cold anymore

accident
TV
white SUV

phone call
shaky hands
voicemail
call again...

ring ring
hey, what’s up?
nothing...
nothing much...

Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.

objectivity
its so clear
all lined up and logical
do this then that then that over there
of course, of course
just do it
simple as that

theoretically
its so easy
all planned out to the t
do this then that then that over here
of course, of course
just do it
of course, of course
have you done it?
of course not

Conspiracy nuts
Say lizards rule the whole world
I'm going with no

Tying worries into
             circles of string.

Loops of eternity,
        coalescing worries.

For which I hung upon,
           every knot was silent.

flat, the earth theory - a minimal haiku

Lucy, you’re all white
bone-dry hands
but ya face ain’t calm—

Said you were almost complete
dancin on your two feet
but that rouge never lasts till dawn.

Girl you’ve walked the night
long as we can remember
whole worlds seen your hips sway—

Ever wish your secrets had stayed buried?
Baby, s'too late to worry
you’ve been embalmed in fame.

What if children are actually the wisest beings on the planet?

And the state in which we call "the development period" before they learn to talk is when they are trying their best to convey all of the secrets of life and death to you?

All children can justifiably do this because their "innocence" as we perceive it is actually the profound wisdom to come of living an entire lifetime that still exists within them. Hence, they have left the troubles of this world behind and still remember passing images and details of what happens after this.

When they figure out they can't actually speak to you for some reason, they then begin to act in the most candid manner to demonstrate their knowledge. And because perhaps, you too have experienced another life or even multiple lives before the one that you're living, you catch on to bits and pieces of what they are demonstrating and appreciate that.

Then, since these little ethereal beings are learning to be human again and you're the first people they meet and spend the most time with, they want to identify with you.

So the beginnings of what we call "personality" are really just the congenial memories to the secrets of the universe shared between parents and children. And eventually, the child grows up and.forgets all their secrets, only to remember them as they live life once again. There's gotta be something to that adage where people refer to the elderly reverting back to their childlike selves, after all!