I found a portal in a dream
Slipped into a slit
Then came so fast
i lost track of singularity

the journey is recursive
took this road many-a-times
more rerun than detour
forgotten lessons faded on aluminum
                             etch harder next time
hard hitting truths don’t even hit anymore
memory is false knowledge                             unreliable
instead follow the dreams
they have plotted the path
  in stardust
                        and
                            ­     astral projections
those are big constellations to fill
i walk bare sole now
so why are my steps still timid?

a swarm of physicists
sits in a room debunking
“the present”

                           logical deduction:
                             there is no now
                            (it doesn't exist)

                                           light years away
                                           on a podcast with nature
                                           a bug flys into my eye

I adjust course
                           a fork offers 3 options
the brain is an open mouth
                                          I sit instead
an insatiable appetite consumes utensils too

queer things deserve to be happy too

    tangentially

earth has swallowed me again
existence is so intimate
especially under the physical
i feel love in its many forms
a waterless stream flowing
      through me
                                   around me
soil is mother and sister
           brother and father
community consumes
                      like a hug
              also
        like a burial
in resting
                i almost heard my name
                  was almost quiet enough
                                       still enough
                                       present enough

oh   to be infinite           and            self-contained

i question the hierarchy of numbers
the triviality of zero
i have regressed to home base          again
does comfort know I have expanded
  ego is a shed skin
  recycled with fallen leaves
  before i die
                      make compost of me
let my love nourish
                                  that which isn’t yet
queer things deserve to be happy too

    tangentially

i am gay with life
death lurks
an imminent transition
i have zero to offer it
the trees are still counting up

I break spines with ease
Finger pages
Lick lifeless words to ******

   Promiscuous bibliophile
I sleep with a band of books
Every night
Caressing words between sheets
Discovering perspective
In the margins
Reading is so sensual

My dreams are an **** of imagery
Subconscious hodgepodge of
Fiction     History     Poetry   &   Prose
Last night I dreamt of…





                                            Well I forgot
                   But I do remember the feeling
   Of flying
                       Between this and that

in all this empty space
                       still couldn’t find the time

our last contact is
                          a rejected suggestion
notification
               of erasure still in progress

your fingerprints are deeply imprinted
   considerations of immortalizing you
in a book
or two

in all this empty space
                    you are more than temporary

though we both spoke periods you are run-on letters from a decade ago
today’s breath is hope
                                               from yesterday
I wish I could tell you

what I once so feverishly stumbled over
it’s still true
it will be
forever

I am plugging in my tech
   for the night

   In darkness
I feel for outlets to fill me
   up

Your outline is a weighted impression
   the far side of bed remembers well

I trace edges of faded color
   empty for a spark of you

On the other side of a dream
   it is 3:54 am
   I am at 71%

I’ve arrived again
in a place I used to know
I swear this laundromat is a portal
I’m in a wash cycle
wringing lessons free from my collar
how do I escape the rinse?

I wanna be clean
but this process feels so messy
not *****   -   but messy
share the heart, hide the hands
I am distorted and out of sorts
her eyes hold rebirth
if I could just die first
I wanna be clean

does purged love create space for more love?
why is release the first step to receipt?
is it?
gently deterred, no detergent
I am spinning on overload
strung out and stranded
                by choice
how do I escape this rinse?

I used to know
how to worship being alive
without bubbles
is it any wonder why
sometimes cycles feel like
perpetual spiraling
I haven’t even put any currency in
and it’s already starting again

what’s the cost of water?
I wanna be clean
but I don’t wanna pay

...the thing
                    ...you did it
   ground a mountain out of
a seed
   birthed a dream out of
a death

you are not where you were
   10     5     1      year ago
but have you stopped to
                                         appreciate it

it is better to be
   late to the birthday than
early to the funeral

again
always we begin
the zenith
becomes a zero
a hill becomes
a mountain
ascent is a gradual unbecoming
I am nothing
again
always we begin

books reduce
                       TITANS to men
          turn mountains into hills skipped over
in seconds
look what man has made of God
a jealous judgmental father
        with a brooding brow

history has taken the legend out of myth
check Atlas
          all the heavens rounded down into
          a boulder
          small enough for shoulder blades
                   stars condensed into marble
                   light enough for man's chiseled hands

we are not here to hold up the world
that's just a lie circulating the globe
we are on this earth to hold up stardust

eyes seek out beauty
and find it everywhere
   lust is appreciation of form
I was never taught attraction
                                  it pulls nonetheless
    tugs at my urges
       ecstasy touch
   my body is a drug
                           to be indulged

my body calls to me
from all its centers of pleasure
my hand is an activator
of everything right
when I erupt
    the sacral rejoices
the world becomes a cloud
                                  a soft landing
somewhere to hold my highs in reverence

pleasure
I am so pleased to meet you
                                                  again
     ­                                                        & again
                                                           ­                & again

The last time I wrote you a love letter
you disappeared
and left me in utter darkness.
Now here you are lighting up my sky again.
Sometimes you feel so sure
and full of yourself.
At others you seem empty and new.
I am trying to better appreciate you
in your becoming
to wax poetic even when we are apart.
Even in your absence I am learning
to be present
to take my time
to still shine.
But I wonder
I wonder how many lovers you have.
I know I am not your only.
The world is a wetter place because of you.
Oceans lap at your face.
When you blink my tides change.
Your control is out-of-this-world.
And I just wanna be near you
somewhere in your orbit.
Close enough to see you
flaws and all.
You wear your depressions so well.
It’s like they never stop you from being whole.
I mean here you go rising to the occasion yet again.
And I can’t help but be struck in awe
of your aura.
So here is another love letter
(for your collection).
And before you disappear
  because I can already sense your waning
I want you to know that you are the balance to my days.


Luna, I love you

when abolish the police gets a platform at the open mic…

a suggestion turns into dialogue
                  into a debate
                                                 into shouts
                and chaos reforms into huddles

anarchy claims the analog   —   BLARING
              (all of this in mere seconds)

the notes are discord to the ear
                   but joy to the heart

the revolution will not be televised
but it will be projected
                    in the underbelly of some open mic

i smoked that ego down like a pack
it's still fuming
fumigating the room
clearing out space
coughing out lungs

can you see through the fog of your own *******

your hair is on fire
can you even smell yourself
     small talk and *******
will tomorrow remember tonight
        it's all for a story right?
  but can you connect the next line

her voicemail asks my favorite *** position
caller #9 ~ maybe we'll get lucky next time
life of the party
dying to be the story
  that no one can forget

ego is a roach
trampled by music

we do not know what
                                          we reach for
       yet it awaits us                                        beyond
                                                          ­                                 the visible
                                   within the potential
energy existed before touch
       kinetic art
                            ever in motion

candlelight is an extension of wick
                                                            ­  and inspiration
an  ( e  x  p  a  n  d  i  n  g     a  u  r  a )
        breaching the frames of darkness
we are just as greedy
   our hands
      our mouths
         our minds
                they all run toward our outermost limits

heaven only knows
what escapes our clutches
                                                arms
   ­                                                       branches
 ­                                  fingers
reaching into the azure sky

                              1000 petal lotus floating
                                           in metta

I.
Condensedwords
Stackedandpresseddown
Stackedandpresseddown
Wei­ght sinks to the bottom
Structure becomes dependent
On prepositions and conjunctions
On loose articles of understanding
A book is built      pages of sentences
What happens when you remove   single word

What happens when   solitary page is ripped
         standing is compromised     brevity’s sake
It all falls


II.
[from] [a] [What happens when you omit a whole sentence] [a] [out] [under] [for] [down]

"Always we begin again." ~ St. Benedict

zero is the loneliest number
because it's empty
   -a hole for filling
but if you change your perspective
       the bottom can be the top

the first sign of growth
                      was a hair
     nothing impressive
    just a single strand
   breaking the surface
  in search of freedom
but that didn't stand for long

isolation gave way to conformity
as the grades came
    hair after hair
clumps         communities         culture
strands bowing under brush
parting        under        comb
hair can be tamed like anything else
duress, product and consistency
             wash   rinse   repeat
duress, product and consistency

never was one for riding waves
waved goodbye to that trend long ago
                                                             ­         grew past it
and figured nature knew best
knew how to sprout and flourish on its own
if left unattended

a bush was a phase                                             until it wasn't
shaved down to a surface
                                                     -fla­t-
something to sit atop and add flair
still couldn't much care
   guess I was a factor
but there was still no product

then society issued a dare
I double, triple dog dare you...
                                                          ­to be
and that was the impetus
because I have always been
  regardless of form
hair shed singularity
         knotted to bond
    condensed into a twist
          that bound memory and experience
                               into a journey of self-exploration

and I suppose the true journey started
long before I remember
  but palm rolls have traced lines to their origin
  roots below the surface recognized
  and left to their own design
twisters locked in dust   lent   dandruff
                         and core
all misjudged together
      how long can you go without censoring yourself?

I grew and grew and was and am and will be
         for 6 years 5 months and 18 days
         I was locked and loaded for self
zero was lifetimes ago
         ages prior to confidence
the mane does not make the lion
      but it certainly helps
I took a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage
made a metta meditation of movement
   before I knew love's true touch
                                                          a­nd then
            when head needed it the most
                                                            ­                                dread vanished
and made way for a universe

of all the memories created to forget
                 touch is the most lasting
the scalp is still anointed
from oil years past
                                                            ­   when scissors did meet
life shook with a force renewed
  and shed bare all that was needed

I was born with nothing
now ???  years ?? months and ? days later
I am yet again at zero
  but now, I know
it's not on me
                           it's in me

what’s a legacy to an ever-spinning web
    an apathetic world
               already on to the next meme
a laugh can last longer than
  an     entire     life’s     catalogue
impact buried under coded language
and refreshing trends

if a spider cared
it would wrap its prayers in silk
   before spewing its insides
the net is wider than floating words
        or hollow deeds
                                     **** your ego

we are only passing through
              dust     to     dust
in death we are nothing

he spent a lifetime watching the sky
                                                   the mountains
                                    the rivers
listening to the wind
       ~all the
                   things it
                                 carried and
                                                      unburde­ned

whole rings were dedicated to thinking
                                                  to 'understanding'
though he was ever- expanding
                   and never the same

he spent a lifetime searching
for comfort in answers
for ideas in letters and numbers
                                           is God by any name God

birds have their own way
                                    of praise
trees bow instead of kneeling
                  listening does not mean hearing
                  sight does not mean vision
                  knowledge does not mean understanding
                                           maybe God is a question
and language is the wrong medium

half the world away is a truth
he’s never heard
  in a tongue he’s never spoken
but the sky still stretches
       the mountains still stand
       the rivers still flow
                 and the wind still carries the message
                                                         ­                 of everything

in a final flash the grand eye closed

more than a sunset
this was a culmination
    of an era
        the expiration of an epoch
           the ultimate reckoning
                                                     of slow karma
           it could've all ended so violently
           justifiably
but this end was a
  streak of lightening
   ---thin and illuminating
      here     then   not

man grimaced at reconciliation
beyond his means and outside of
his favor
  in the brain the end is much simpler
       a hurricane with no center
         an eye with no pupil
       a tragedy the size of a heart

the grand eye will open again
    even if we aren't sighted
small magicians raise their eyebrows
at science above their understanding

I been wandering aimless
and peeping the synchronicities
I been reading other's words
and deciphering my truth
I been tutoring the youth
and learning from their mentorship
I been slinking out               [of relation-ships]
and treading in myself
I been sitting in silence
and feeling through the noise
I been abstaining from my vices
but creating new distractions
                                                    ­  I been making new playlists
                                                      a­nd blending the genres
                                                      I been triple checking accounts
                                                      an­d noting the trends
                                                      I been avoiding top priorities
                                                      ­and focusing on side quests
                                                      I been writing off the future
but deepening in the now
I been sharing the best of me
while keeping solitude with my shadows
I been becoming my higher self
day by
              day
                      by day
curating a person I can be proud of
                                                              ­ /proud for
I been
and will be

to a forest
a single tree is
but a limb

here in this soil
        between acorn and oak
I have buried my accomplishments
in another dream
          that in my demise
          they may still flourish

we bite off more than we can chew
                   gluttonous

nibbling on half truths
                               we’ve been fed
                                                  our whole lives

un.di.gest.ed thoughts are regurgitated
     in piecemeal

pass this down for me

we are more than we’ve ever imagined
stop plating the unpalatable
              and asking for seconds
throw that **** out
                                    it’s stale

an odd pairing can age well
                  with the right conditions

Challah and Feta
Roti and Mozzarella
every dry bread has its own sour cheese

compliments to the flour
    that rose to the occasion
                        to the curd
    that ripened into a match
the loving all started with respect
respect
because pallets don’t have to be the same
to be appreciated
sometimes opposites attract
  and it’s the perfect blend
               of talker and listener
               of traveler and homebody
               of brain and heart

sweet and savory
is a combo for the ages
so why not Sourdough and Swiss
               or a NYC Bagel and Gouda
when there are equal parts trust
there is no limit to the love
   says 2 successful careers
      says 3 grown kids
         says 50 years of marriage
the secret
is never going to bed angry
with each other
  is knowing when you’re wrong
  and admitting it                      (just a lil my bad)
    is keeping god in the family
    and the family in god
      so even when life curdles
        it is just a reshaping
          and not a crumbling

an odd pairing can age well
with the right conditions
     50 years later
and here we are toasting
  to an endless love
                  to the perfect bun and cheese
                        Happy Anniversary!!

go ahead
                                          quantify freedom
               derive a pattern of joy
                                                           from the things you consume

r they correlated
1 could be whole
                  without the void of comparison

there is more b   l   a   n   k     s   p   a   c   e
                                       than clutter
  can you find it
           does its empty detract

do not fill it
                         I beg of you
let the world rest
                               and find itself

thoughts move on without me
old train, new platform
my backpack quivers in abandonment
     left with no back to support it
i keep forgetting the weight i carry

dark rooms and lit paths
sound bathing in the ether/
took a few C notes
for me to recognize the leader/
transpose a new crown
without need for a feature/
the man in the mirror ain't lost
he just a seeker/
secret- what always was
will always be/
kami knows the infinite flow
of inner ki/
energy never dies
just recycles like the rain in the sky/
reduced views get reused
in a cycle of tries/
try try try
try try fail/
took a couple iterations
for the lost to prevail/
exhales and deep sighs
I was numbing my feels/
in clouds of **** smoke
I was blind to the fields/
of opportunity
blessings and deep roots of unity/
singular in motion but narrow-minded
my view could see/
destination
but not the alternate routes/
on a mission for success
I was chasing the clout/
side quest- ion
is a life well spent if you never save/
if you hustle
and grind bones until your dying days/
the grave swallows all time
with an infinite hunger/
crunch seconds into moments
that exist without numbers/

it's crunch time
yea it's time to chew out fear/
it's crunch time
how much change can come in a year/
it's crunch time
how do swallows fly so free/
digest notes
reproduce a whole symphony

I am steadily thinning
             light blues holding me together
                                                      (t­rying to)
  a rambling wisp
                     nebulous and airy
I want to puff out my chest
    be abstract art
                              for your interpretation

  I look down at you
                         as you look up
                                                        I am dying
such is the cycle of it all
            I hope
                              simply
                       ­   that in my shedding
                                                     you will prosper
                  that when I rain down
                                                    you will catch me

or try to

today is yesterday's hope
    but tomorrow
           tomorrow holds everything the past
hasn't seen

an oracle says omens
                                      are constantly presenting
if you just look
                             or listen

I've been looking all my life
and the message is clear
        tomorrow
        tomorrow will be my day
as soon as the clock strikes 13
                    it's my time

mom says safety and security are key
teacher says Maslow's hierarchy agrees
boss says money supplies all my needs
and I listen

I've been listening all my life
and the message is clear
job, girlfriend and car secured
renting but my space is home
owe 31,000 in student loans
but that degree, I own

fact check anyone with a fatter check
knowledge is an expensive throne

under foot
fertilizer whispers of fallen leaves
     not blackened or auburned
       by sweat or toil

light rests
  buried under compact soil
     silent and dense
     cold and unstirred
                                       forecasting winter

waking dreams are ground into dust
and tossed to stoic winds

pillars stand unmoved by clocks
          tradition and duty
          tradition and duty
          tradition and duty
                           swing hands in unceasing circles
do not let your light be fodder

  under foot
fertilizer whispers of fallen leaves
     as stars stare holes into your black

my shadows warn of looming undercurrent
   it is already here
familiar shackles                        ankle-biting
     at old touch points
feet trudge
                      heavy
                              ­    then light
                      heavy
                               ­                       then light

I cut my strings 2 years ago                                (some of them)

                                                      the crown tips

shedding is continuous
heavy
            light
heavy
            light
heavy
­            light
                           I am learning to carry it well
to march
                 — in spite of burdens
                                                       /excess is a burden
                                                       /my burden is light

a forced dance at my feet
  I shuck and jive
   for a reticent forest
leaves applaud                        trees are unamused
                 — they’ve taught me better

                                                   stop running
                                                      plant in it
                                                    breathe it in
                                                              ­                  winter is   here

sadistic numbers
                               the map bleeds
                               a projected suicide

                                                        ­         too close to call

the heads yelp anyway
      decimals spilling out
                                           to fill the gaps

THIS JUST IN
the world is ending
the world is ending
the world is ending

                                   don't stop watching!

at the intersection of
                                 nowhere and nothing
destiny bellows
  its call echoes through chambers
                           and gets caught in a keyhole

how can something so vast as the future
be unlocked by something as minute
                                                as the now

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

Love is both muse and music
both poetry and purpose
a symphony of serendipity


The perfect love poem takes just minutes
to imagine
    but a lifetime to create
though words may flood your page
seek the source
love is the strongest force
        it exists beyond language
    is felt before touch
let your sentences be drenched
in intimacy
and punctuated by appreciation

Even when communication is nonverbal
let its essence be affection
     devotion
not only are run ons acceptable here
they are encouraged
marriage is not a life sentence
but an epic of possibilities

Adventure forward knowing that
the future is unknowable
but you are forging it   -   together
ellipses are waiting for you
you create time
   mold it to your will   -   together
trust the process
                              but also
trust each other
     to be auxiliary verbs in
       the act of loving

Seek understanding in your verses
             there is no winner
when existence is the goal
     co-existence
     co-creation
ego aside
be co-stars for the Virgo moon
live in the ease of each other
  even as cycles spiral around you
  even as you spiral around cycles
be the period that stands firm
                                                      for your partner
even under questioning

When line breaks feel like endings
   indent   and   reinvent
you are both forever changing
   so change together
   make edits together
it is a lie that brainstorms are
only the beginning
they will find you
in idle moments
  when the mind wanders
   raining down doubts
though ideas may blot your page
again seek source
  and what started your course

Write to each other
Write for each other

The perfect love poem takes just minutes
to draft
    but if you do it right
it is always under revision
even after you decide to publish