when my dreams dream of me
  it is a reoccurring affair
    two consenting parties
                    connecting in a liminal space
                                                                                      beyond perception

they question
                         where have you been

I offer rehearsed verse

they freestyle a new testament

I pause unsure

they ad lib ****** sounds

I hype them up

they step back and make room

I stumble into imagination                      ~expertly


when my dreams dream of me
it is a reoccurring affair
a song and dance we both get off to
it is only a matter of time
from one meeting to the next
the law of attraction works both ways
                        double-time
and yet
              every time we consummate
they question
                         where have you been
as if I’ve been cheating with mediocrity

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophecy

we have been lied to in circles
and led to believe time is linear
but the end does not justify the means
circles have no end
                                   or beginning

before any axioms are presented
start with why
                           why ask the question that leads to the answer
                           why seek the answer that leads to more questions
the axiom is bliss
now dismantle the argument without lying
          to yourself                                                  to the future
                                       to your neighbor

why ask?                         -knowledge
why seek?                       -wisdom
why teach?                     -clarity for the cycloning circles
this means       before our end
the collective should know
                                     know- who, what, when, where, how
why?                                -for the sake of prophesying
                                           for the sake of manifesting

there is no timeline where stupidity
is a virtue
and we are past axioms
so ignorance is inexcusable

in the Salem Witch Trials
girls as young as 4 were murdered for fear
  of their magic
fear kills more dreams than ignorance or stupidity

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophesy
so how dare we shatter the mirrors
and nail the windows shut

I could see myself clear before
  the distortion of time
warped perspective has taught me
  sight is unreliable

wrinkles and greying hairs
smile lines and dimming irises
  age betrays position

some reflections breed only hate
  but I want to feel pride in growth
in observing tradition
  there are cracks in my face

the mirror in the distance
holds my ancestors' disposition
                                                     ­              is that a grimace or a grin?

before i had
i wanted
before i wanted
i lacked

                                   there is still poverty in achievement
                                   shiny things have pockets of their own
                                   cavities deep with desire
                                   ravenous with dissatisfaction

amnesia finds me searching for what is lost
                    value or sentiment
                         the words           are               the first            thing           to
                                                              ­                                                       slip
each
at some point
    originated from these hands
their texture is unfamiliar now
though it's only been one day

full-on compositions are
released to the void
     luckily clouds hold some vapor

I hope it rains tomorrow

forecasts say it's unlikely I will
ever see you again
your disappearance hasn't even occurred
   (to me)   yet

dust will fall
but will ashes
                          this is a lesson in fighting for

I sighed it all away
  before any instinct to clinch
       or swing
          or break

am I better composed than my poetry
simply because I accept
          without questioning

the formulas are lost
      the charge is lost
            the message is lost
yet I still hope to discover myself

amnesia will remind me tomorrow
of another item vanished
but today I plotted out
a future
and nothing was missing

it was much heavier than I expected
the cherry-wood box
all that's left of you
it was heavier than the news of your death
but not nearly as heavy as the loss of you
every moment you weren't there when I was a child.
you taught me a lot,
not directly,
but your absence taught me everything
about loneliness
about pretending to be strong
during my weakest times
it taught me how to do time
without expecting anyone to be there
and no one ever was
but you're finally with me,
now that you're gone.
the news of losin' you wasn't
what I expected it to be
that cherry-wood box was a lot
heavier than I thought it'd be
I wish I had a softer past
so I could cry for you
like I ought to be
but my baby, she cries for you, for me
and it helps
I miss you like I always have
it's just different now