I'm talking to you;
Is it because I have to
Or because I want to?
I'm talking to you;
Is it to understand you
Or so I am understood?
I'm talking to you;
Is it that I like you
Or that I don't?
I'm taking to you;
Is it to hear myself
Or to be heard?
Is it solely from the verb
Or by the noun?
In this rhetoric,
Is it mine or ours or yours?
In this dialogue,
Is it gossip, chitchat, or conversation?
By the course of it
Is it chance, choice, or demand?
I'm talking to you
Or I'm talking with you?

Think it a wound
That has been cut open,
All of this
Pouring out of some person.
As blood like ichor.
Of Uranus a pouch, a receptacle, a quiver;
Time in consumption,
Like an arrow autochthonic
In the breast of existence.
Nursing the young.
Of Cronus a reflection, a refection, a ripple;
Time in digestion,
Like an innominate derivation
From the navel of continuance.
Bringing them up.
Of Zeus a reverberation, a spark, a sliver;
Time in expression,
Like an aborted secret
From the honey of speleothemas.
Shaping them out.
Of Apollo a radiance, a ray, a participle;
Time in extension,
Like an auspicious countenance
From the mucilage of angiospermae.
Birthing the echo.

This turkey pardon is nonsense,
Clearly symbolic.
But people seem to
No longer grasp the extent
To which that symbolism goes.
The gobblers which we free,
Where do they go?
To live out their lives in solitude
On a quiet reserve.
The rest?
Well, we just put them to death
Enshrined in a yearly ritual slaughter.
Nothing like that situation of the natives
When we boil off all the water..

And you may say,
"You think of it too much,
Sign to it too much importance."
But I say you think too little
And too small.
You think of all the easements
As entitlements
And not ones which we took
Through invasion and subjugation.

Plenty, long - it is pitiful.
Is it never better than to taste of it?
Empty, numb - it is pitiful.
Is it naught that is more flavorful?

In the living glass of the universe
I am a liquid,
Drink the drink.
By the marsh like mixture of life,
Split the iris,
Eye to eye.
As the electric echo of an echo
Waves as expression,
I am a particle.

I am the light

By the gypsum rose grown.
I am the order borne out of the primordial.
In weaves & webs perennial,
I am the pyramid doubled.
By the barycenter offset zero,
I am without mass & weightless.
In the predeterminants of the hypermatrix,
I am a bolt of lightning and the thunder.
By the storm of the ocean struck,
I am a standing wave in motion.

Material and immaterial.

The juxtaposition betwixt
Hope & agony is often sharp,
Short but sudden.
Yet, is pain not longer suffered
All the times worse?
And of the flames snuffed?
Is this not the worst?
Of our fatigues,
They are addressed only in comfort,
Dressed by the garbs of one who understands
Our needs for medicine.
For the soul downtrodden
And the body corrupted,
As healers or like doctors,
Those whom we love enough to be as companions.
For the best remedy of any wound is care,
Borne out of love & not necessity
But because they wish to be there.

If she were a celestial,
And I among constellations -
Then she would be the sun,
And I the moon.
Then I would be a star,
And her a heavenly angel.
Then I would beam brightly
At the mere presence of her.
Whenever needed,
Never receded
Neither eclipsed,
The light shone would be ours together
No matter the luminous object.
From the pledge of our marriage
There is a beauty so rapturous
In a love bathed to our family,
Fellow friends & strangers
To whom too are showered
In light of our joy & happiness.

"I am a victim of circumstance."
Are we not all?
Play not devoid
But freely strum the chords
Of sympathy and even empathy,
Far from pieces which are familiar,
For situations one might sparsely fathom.

When someone's fallen
Reach out a hand to help them up
Even if it slows you down,
Even when it is not expected.
For when is a fall the expectation?
And who among us is the exception?

Reflect, act, remark.
If I am to cross the line which signals finish
It will be knowing you
Have completed the marathon.
Having waded the haze that is "competition,"
In a day & age where that means so little
And should still mean less,
I will have been obscured by nothing.
For in that trek, I won;
In the journey of the sport of love
I went the distance for a companion.
When I knelt,
I chanced a "prize"
But it was you who made me champion.