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The Physics of Love: The Equivalency Fallacy


the poet places his Sunday porcelain coffee mug  
upon his bare chest, purposed to heat the heart to a
higher degree, equal to hers, next door, three feet away,
in their communal bed

two identical alarm clocks, one on each nightstand,
confirms the degree differential, for far beyond time-telling,
it informs on me, providing the room temperature,
and her side of the bed, 5 degrees warmer

the collegial scientists posit theoretical excuses,
the rooms wind currents, proximity to the A/C, body mass,
all refuted after visual and mechanical inspection,
all indelible proofs of the Equivalency Fallacy

despite the visual evidence abounding all around,
despite the surrounding starlike quantity of busted,
love songs, poems and the other artistic churn,
depicting the principle, one requires love physics to validate the
living principle for the living, that love is rarely identical
in quantitative quality, typology, representation and
manifestations measurable

each greets the other with morning declarations of
mutuality, trying to find those hundred different ways
to love her/him today, employing imaginative artifice to proof
the impossibility, that in every aspect your living love ability
is precious capital precision equal
and ha! each love is the greater...

you knew this?
then you knew, his coffee spills (intentionally?) and the
Fighting Fallacy rules,
every thing is fair in love and war, for they too, are
identical and equal, in so many ways,
but never quantifiable exactly

8:33am, 73 degrees, on my side
11/12/17
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jamesingram/onehundredways.html
We are watching the clouds
bandage an incarnadine sky,

we are practicing our best knots,
weaving an army of tourniquets,

we are slow-dancing
barefoot on the edge
of a razor.

We are watching
a demolition derby
in the driving rain,

the smell of motor oil
mixing with gasoline,

the hard melancholy
of dying machines.

We are waltzing from room to room,
smearing our names on the floor,

we are keeping time to slow music,
bleeding out behind closed doors.
Politics and gain
Oh so vain
Have I ,would become

Offender and the offended
Are they same in the game

Where's the next bend
There seems to be no end

Mixed emotions
Run through the veins
Know not any retreat

A land unknown ,
No fear lays
Unknown, it forever stays

What if End comes
Untimely
I would be Ghost Writer
Please Read the lines
Nothing in between :))

Some odd thoughts
 Nov 2017 Andrew Guzaldo c
RiBa
The virginal moon shines
Amidst the diaphanous clouds
Like an ageless nymph
She hides from her lover

The gentle waves ripple endlessly
A hypnotic song they sing
Myriad shadows in her *****
And the Ganga flows on her way

On his tiny boat
A little lantern burns the night
The lonely boatman
Sings in the lonely night

A song of pain and longing
Of a child pining for his lost mother
And the Gentle Ganga
She cries!
 Nov 2017 Andrew Guzaldo c
A
The moisture will evaporate
Clouds will form
The rain will pour
the sun will come out.

Night will turn to day
Day to night
Over and over
And over again

The earth will continue to spin
Rotate
Orbit
The ball will drop at the start of a new year
Lovers will kiss
Friends will celebrate

Music will sound just as sweet
As the band marches on
Left foot, right foot, repeat.

An empty matress under a frame
Lights that no longer glow
Strings that haven't been plucked in ages

A plant with no water
No sun
No hope for growth
Real love is knowing someone's
weaknesses and not taking
advantage of them. Knowing their flaws & accepting who they are.
dolorimetry
n. The measurement of pain sensations

How do you measure pain?
a gasp
a step or two
away
from someone whose
world used to
revolve around you
a tear
a sigh
a stretch of arms
that used to wrap
a soul so tender and warm.

How do you measure pain?
a stomp
a slap
a finger pointed like
a gun or a dagger
on your chest—
accusing
complaining
tired, frustrated
infuriated.
How do you measure pain?
the distance
from A to Z
a tick of clock
a grain of sand
blown by the wind
a drop of blood
from a blade-stricken wrist.

How do you measure pain?
a smile
a laugh
a response telling
them you’re fine
but hell, you’re not.
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