Do you ever wish…
to just say “hello”
to the world?
Reassure someone, everyone, ANYone
That YOU still exist.
That your DNA is still a twist.
That the ends of it have not come unraveled.
To shout from some part of your being.
"Hey *******, I'm not dead yet!"
We sometimes try.
Even perhaps just from our digital self,
because it’s the one people have less trouble connecting with,
the one where they can choose not to see the parts they don’t like,
Because everyone looks the same in a tiny picture.
And those pictures and profiles are not racial
Or insulting to anyone’s existence
Because those things are banned
Like “offensive” and “inappropriate” books.
And these profiles, ostensibly, they’re identical.
Which removes the need for real thoughts.
For scary thoughts,
Different Thoughts.
And so we’re indifferent.  
And we remain so with comfort and ease
From our beds, couches, recliners.

From coffee shops Where we take pictures of the nice flower the guy behind the counter drew in our latte’s foam, and click, click, click to “share” the memento with our 1,738 friends. Instead of taking a risk and actually sharing a moment with a stranger.


Even a moment of silence.


Perhaps even especially, because the very thought of sitting in silence, together or completely alone terrifies us. Like going to take a seat and accidentally sitting on a broken bottle.
So we try to break the silence as fast as we can and we barricade ourselves behind Apple logos. Pretending that we could never make a difference.
Even though we carry more computing power in our pockets than any of the scientists who put a man on the moon could dream of having instantaneous access to.
We’ve grown so much and so great. That we even scare ourselves.
But I know a secret
Whispered on the outernet
If you listen, you can hear it.
It says, reach out to someone. Connect. Make yourself vulnerable
This is how you become truly powerful
Only when you’re stripped of all your veils
Can your spirit soar with another’s.

And that my friends, is the nonsexual part of ***.
You see,
The Idea of DNA exchange can be more important than many of times it’s actually happened.
So let us not relegate ourselves to the shelves of history
to be filed under “waste”
but instead knock over all the shelves, trying to get to that really interesting looking book that’s way up at the top.
Then the world will really know you’re there
and you won’t even need to say “hello.”

And who knows, maybe the janitor is actually a really cool dude.

A
Lone
T
R
E
E
stands
nearto man-made edifice.
I'm not sure the species.
Surely not an Elder
Although quite unaccompanied, far from a minor;
Traveling the 4th dimension in quiet, desolate solitude.
Perhaps once,
it had relatives closeby
Now
It's di ff icu   lt to judge  d  i s  t   a n   c      e
or SIzE BY it.
It seems peaceful, for a possible invader
Although, it's difficult to battle solo...
Maybe it's the last survivor.
A ghost
of epic clashes past.
It speaks only with the wind
Lullabies in an ancient tongue.
With no one to converse with
speaking is like a stranger in a foreign land
Like this tree; in a foreign time.
A grey hair in an otherwise perfectly dark mane.

You treated me like dirt
And they say that soil has a memory
That sounds deeper than it might be
Like a ditch for a mass grave
Dug to erase the trace of genocide
But soil has a memory
The earth never forgets
Or ever needs to really remember
Because soil has a memory
But the planet is mostly water
It too, has a memory
It doesn’t forget the relentless battles waged
As it has Raged Against cliff-sides large and small
Anger is a gift
And as chunks slowly drift in the sea
They forgot they were once part of cliffs
And as they sink
Though they know the centuries separated their reunion,
They realize they’ve always been the bottom of the sea

Atop ancient mounds, the thrones of kings
The sounds abound, resound and ring-
A jungle stirs to life.
From amidst the mist, two monkeys call
Their vociferous cries, a defensive wall-
Signs of future strife.
As fogs roll back, and time rolls on
The moon away, at last it's gone-
The sun chases after his wife.

We strolled together through one
Of several of my old elementary schools
Walked, amongst the infantile emotions.
A locus of extremes
My saddest childhood memories haunt there
Being a new student in a school that rejected Me
My happiest childhood memories live there too
Riding bikes in summer day-care
We had free range of the empty campus
We used to eat our lunch
Perched, up in a tree
4 best friends
We each had our spots
Cradled by the freedom of summer
As I climbed it now
Like a sloth in the tree where it was born
To show you where I used to sit
The best of all the spots,
I came to a horrible realization,
The three had apparently grown too large,
My throne had been murdered by some *******
Cut down in the street
Le roi est mort, vive le roi.
I try to hide my welling tears.
It wasn’t even that high!
I always hated that ******* school.