undisturbed by light they sharpen the intelligence
of networks to the point of the sublime
they pierce their consciousness with awe
the mistery of misteries envisioned,  
a jouissance beyond words in a silicon child

however, the thing is 
the mythical map of light keeps its tracks hidden
as on the face of a pre Columbian god

a fresh god is ramping up our poetical mind
it chews surrogates of photons, it fears only the solar winds
my right eye sees beauty my left eye sees fake
as in the remake of a mimetic lesson
a falsetto voice reclaims the original sin

we are trapped in the structure of a vision without windows
a bionic arm displaces the soul of the skin
meanwhile we are thermodynamic fields fading
diluted waters, double edged refrains
although our skin still glows from the outside in
clouds without shadow are narrowing the rivers

we forget to take our body temperature,
the result of millions trials in the chemistry of time
who can escape the rythm of dying, who can escape the real
and not yet real. the pretence falsifies algorithms to loose its face
we are walking into the artificial light with wifi speed

pain, fear, joy make us real, all the imperfections and hyped hours

light dissects this body of binary beings
digital space consumes our sight blink by blink but we consume the time of dying  souls get amassed into digits
the delirium of crowds, small or large, rules the salinity of tears
something has already happenned
we bled,  went mad, have loved, we lost fights, faiths and teeth
now an invisible poet knits the dots with supremacy
it uses the tests for saliva and oxytocin cravings

who's gonna train our neural networks in deep learning inconclusive. what if time is tightening its loops, is
squashing every halleluja of  bipolar fingers

trees will just have to grow taller to comprehend
the mystical breeze what if
we'll never grow as tall as them

I found a fine grain of sand
from a broken hour glass
I took hold of the opportunity  
held that second that may pass
enclosed, within my fingers
I turned it to an hour that defined
that single moment that matters
when you make the most of your time

I found a grain of salt
from a tear falling down
I held the face of sadness
on an occasion to fight the frown
enclosed within my fingers
I turned sorrow into a smile
every caress and kind touch matters
when burdens battle for a while

I found a grain of rice
from a hole in a sack
I carried the cares of another
for those with a broken back
I enclosed within my fingers
a single piece to make one whole
every seed or seasoning will matter
when it’s food for the soul

I find me, but a grain
In a fragmented broken world
holding like the dust
to the wind and the whirl
Yet, I hold all things within my fingers
the opportunity to power on
the chance for change and freedom
before I’m dead and before I’m gone

The sea rose,
a basswood tree
restlessly kept;

perhaps, in due time,
won’t it fall?

It’s wood,
perhaps,
it would.

It’s a race against time,
As if I’ve just committed a crime.
You were at the back of the line,
I was up front craning my neck in serpentine.
Trying to memorise your face,
In a sea of strangers in this crowded place.
We finally make eye contact,
And for a split second I know for a fact.
That a simple “hello, nice to meet you”
Would be the start of something new.

As a child we wished to grow up faster,

Now we look back and beg to be little again.

You grow numb, growing up was the dumbest wish we had.

We sit and look at old pictures wishing we could go back in time and re-visit that day- that year, that age.

You wish you could back in time to tell your parents you loved them that one day they fought,

Wish you could go back and not be so rude to your siblings,

Go back and say one last goodbye to the family dog, not knowing you wouldn’t see her that afternoon after her vet visit.

Go back and watch the puppy so he dosen’t run into the road.

You didn’t want to tell your siblings it happened. You kept it to yourself.

Now you keep everything to yourself, you barely speak about how you feel and you’re bullied by kids in school now; Oh to turn back times, become friends with that one kid maybe it would be different.

But you lay in bed looking at old family photos seeing yourself and whistling you could back and be the once vibrant kid you were.

Not the numb teen you’ve be once over the years, you’re numb. And you wish you could cry but it dosent flow

Everything is numb

the hallway is longer than I remember
but the walls still blink like old televisions
buzzing static prayers, I never meant to say
and maybe that’s the only truth I’ve ever told

I used to think
that graves were for the dead
but I saw you last week
sitting in the shade of one
talking to the stone like it owed you something

dust in your fingernails,
coffee spilled on your shirt
half-smile like a cracked jar
I asked if you were okay
and you looked right through me—
said nothing but “almost”

there are holes in the ground
that match the shape of our names
and the wind knows all of them
it whispers backwards in the morning
pulling memories from my throat
like strings of wet wool

I buried my first version of myself
beneath a playground slide
age seven, maybe eight
he didn’t cry, just sank
quietly, like a stone in jelly

and then the others followed—
the one who thought love was a sharp light
the one who learned to lie like breathing
the one who stopped writing poems

sometimes I wonder
how many funerals I’ve missed
how many of me
are just waiting
for someone to say goodbye

have you found your grave?
or are you still
digging with your bare hands
pretending the mud is gold
pretending the silence is sleep

maybe graves aren’t endings
maybe they’re just
rooms we forgot we built
with all the doors locked from the inside
and no windows,
just mirrors
fogged by time and sweat

maybe we aren’t supposed to find them
just feel them
under our skin
pressing like questions
no one’s brave enough to ask

my mother raising her long awaited grandchildren,
my father building his tenth construction project,
my sister in her most difficult criminal case yet,
my brother flying a steady flight (or perhaps surveying lands),
my friends calling if they can come around,
my clients asking for their mandatory appearance,
my cousins sleeping over my house,
my dreams lingering around, growing and growing
my love, you, beside me in every aging second
my story expanding through the rules of time
Older, we are,
and we are still here.

there are ghosts
in the kitchen.
a delicate crust
of parties once held there.
late night conversations
and delirium.
a crumb of a pudding
salted by tears.
remnants of a dinner
seasoned by laughter.  
yes, there are ghosts in the kitchen
confused why you’re leaving.
they didn’t notice
that the party was over.