notice how i used "the",
pronounced "thawh" not "thuh"

and you told me words were just
words, like they **** you with
cooing fingertips licking your jaw and...

tap you on the shoulder to
then spin away again.

forgive my tongue, my
jocular indecisiveness
running over my teeth

math smirked at you;
your calculations were timid
so maybe that's why i could
never understand your idea
of "concise".

A catalyst is a chemical that speeds up reactions.
At least that’s what I learned in chemistry class.
Catalysts sometimes are the major factors in a reactions and without them,
The reaction could never happen.
Catalyst can be lab chemicals,
alcohol,
drugs,
coffee even,
or a person.

While lounging around one afternoon you were talking physics
And I turned it on your head and spoke of chemistry,
Knowing full well that I was speaking of our personal chemistries.
You were right, the physics of a relationship gives us the laws,
But CHEMISTRY can predict the outcome.
If you do the math and follow the directions,
you can determine the product without even doing the experiment.

Unless the reaction you are creating has never been attempted before by the scientists preforming the experiment.

They can flip through the books,
Read the essays,
Study the theorems,
Even attempt the calculations,
But if they don’t do the actual experiment,
They will never find their outcome.

Some things need a push,
A catalyst,
For them to form a bond,
React,
And combine into a stable combination.
Hypotheses must be TESTED, ACCEPTED, and RATIFIED
Before becoming a law.

No matter how based in logic your hypothesis might be,
You need the universe and its fundamental laws to back it up.
There are still surprises left in the universe.
Maybe you and I can be one of them.

A map guide clarifying the wrong place
Stoic expressions with implied purpose are no help
Busy streets bustling about this foreign land of no lights
High buildings sporting officiality block my view
Of the mountains and rivers now paved over by ideals of the future
A showcase of grey streets, walls, and skies; I am left hopeless.

No color, no contrast, just black and white: the architects are hopeless
All the intricate designs and patterns are of a different time and place
I cannot be trapped in the colorless cinema of the town; I search for a vibrant future
Native minds drear into the day, knowing not that they desperately need help
The neon lights and rain shower rainbows are not an element of the city's depressed view
It's as if the colorblind man blackened the city and closed his curtains to the light

The planes cannot find where to land because someone put out the runway lights
Auras only shine in black and white, the long since hopeful are now helplessly hopeless
I exhale my dissapointment towards the uninspired dead end view
And mournful rainbows melt out of the sky, defeated. Why did I come here in the first place?
Perhaps I am the prophecy, the ******, the angelic omen sent by God to help
Or perhaps that is conceited; one person alone cannot brighten this future.

No amount of psychic ability or math calculations could have predicted this future
Somebody shot down the angels, choked out all the lights
Malicious villains took over as citizens realized superman wasn't coming to help
Thus the people watched as the color drained out and faded away, oh, they are hopeless
Cacophonous chaos throws broken hearts, leaving shards all over the place
A kaleidoscope zoom reflects nothing but melancholy expressions into my view.

When was the last time the sunshine peeked through the window's view?
Did the sun burn out from uncertain predictions of the future?
I try to envision when only the bleakness of TV sets in the city were out of place
Because psychedelic intricacies ruled, shinning proud neon lights
But then the clouds greyed the sky once the colorblind man began to feel hopeless
His dimension of colors disagreed with the perception of others, shying him from help

Nobody could answer his message in a bottle, his SOS, his plea for help
So day after day darker walls constructed over his already restricted view
At points in our lives our faith finds nothing to battle the hopeless
But news of the blind man seeing purple mountains ignites faith in the future
Of the man of no color who painted the city grey and drained the neon lights
Because his color is not non-existent, but waiting to be found in his own secret place

So perhaps we can help transform this dystopia into a brighter future
We cannot let be a view that we know has the capability to glitter in the light
We will smolder the pollution cloud of hopeless energy and enlighten this place.

I thought she was in the room with me
it is now clear she is somewhere
across a stretch of rushing thought
like a river that pulls those who dare to float
down onto breaking rocks.

My meaning seems to drown
swept away
and I make hasty calculations
on ****** expressions
trying to determine the safe passage
for my words.

What I would give
to be able to unshackle me from my body
climb into her head
and be done with guessing.

Friend have I said already?
You have an IQ above the majority
You looked so brilliant and genius to me
A perfect example of brain and beauty.

You're as good as my favorite coffee
Your voice is like a song of good melody
You keep on telling me sweet remarks
What you truly mean, it's a question mark

I honestly admit I am the fool one here
But you did those things, don't put me on blame
I loved the way you say my name
How I wish I could say and claim your surname.

Look at me my favorite boy,
And say what I've been wanting to know,
Be honest, don't look the other way
And confess that you feel the same way.

My heart keeps telling me that it could be real
but I don't want to raise my expectations
Stop the confusion and drop the complications
Please calculate the possibility since you're good at calculations.

Lost on the plains of ancient  Ílion,
Treading the windswept soil and stone,
I sense the ghosts of warriors and horsemen,
Of dark-eyed women and jealous kings.
Their history scattered, burned and ruined,
Pressed by time and scavenging hordes,
Yet restored to life in song and verse.
When poets and imagining hearts were stirred
To find heroes among brutal soldiers
And reasons for violence masked as greed.

Shades of blue lost to time reappear.
In their winding brains goddesses walked,
Holding an aegis made that bore a Gorgon’s face
Or gods who guided arrows and chose the dead.
Bards ever kept alive the rival gods
Before whom King Priam bowed and Achilles defiled.

Across the grape-blood waters of the Hellespont,
Aphrodite savored her own victory and watched
As Paris still kept the women she had given him.
Love was not among her calculations
Nor those of Zeus when he forbade hindrance
By the gods, who yet battled among themselves.

As mortal enemies fought the coming of allies.
For ten years, ships and horses swarmed to aid
The unbowed city, even Memnon and Penthesilia,
Both slain by the sword for reasons then forgot,
So their sacrifices failed to dent a lust for blood.

Yet armies tired and war ended, as all wars do,
Through fatigue or fire or the scattering of slaves.
Now time has whitened the ruins and sands
And Boreas sweeps away the shards of stain
That dyed the cities’ walls and columns.

The scarlet buried below Herculaneum is gone,
And saffron gowns on dancing virgins,
All the horses’ indigo manes and hyakinthos
Sandals of Achilles, whose mother dyed them
Before he sailed, forgetting his Stygian bath.

He was clad in red to hide his blood,
So when wounded, his men would not cower.
Yet one arrow alone took his life; how telling
That more valiant men lost theirs closer to the soul!

Gone are the sheep, red-fleeced with madder
And argamon robes of brides and Cybele’s priests.
No sacrificial lambs or holy men walk here now,
On the bone white land and relics of a kingdom,
Yet the north wind, the lone god, continues to wail.

March 5, 2020

The farthest man made object in space, Voyager 1,
is over 20 billion km away from Earth.
On board is a phonograph record, brilliant gold,
containing sounds and images of what life is like on earth,
A message to whoever is able to listen, a literal shot in the dark.
On it is an inscription that is perhaps the most beautiful sentence
I have ever read
TO THE MAKERS OF MUSIC
ALL TIMES
ALL WORLDS
a time capsule, a gift, from us
To anywhere and everywhere
A hundred years from now or a thousand
Our belief that no matter what time
Or world you belong to, melody and harmony and rhythm, can bring us together, can communicate.
On the cover
Are figures, explaining how to operate this record
Hieroglyphics from what by then
Would be ancient history
Messages in binary, the 1s and 0s
Our position in the universe marked by our distances
from gigantic pulsars, the star map to our home,
the creators of this message
There's beauty in this marriage of math and art
Code and music
As a way to communicate with the universe.
Some of the images on the record are
the most beautifully simple ones,
Of us, humans, drinking and eating, laughing,
of animals, nature, food and architecture.
Then there are images of our scientific observations,
mathematical calculations, our discoveries,
Like a child showing off
Look, look what I can do!
Black and white and in colour,
Pictures, proof that we, indeed have lived and achieved.
The music, classical, our very best from Bach and Mozart
to Blind Willie Johnson's Dark was the Night.
But all of this can only matter, can come to fruition
if someone exists to receive it, and is evolved enough
to comprehend what it means.
But that's the thing, everybody knows,
That's there's a slim chance of this record ever being heard,
and it's much more possible that the Voyager will simply end up as floating debris in the cosmos, but it doesn't matter!
We just want someone to know that there was a species of bipedal, intelligent animals on this blue planet,
no different than finding graffiti in alleys that read I WAS HERE.
WE WERE HERE, WE EXISTED.  
And it's all about that hope, the hope that someone will see us,
our pictures, listen to our languages, our greetings, our music, and remember us, even after we're long gone.
Or perhaps we will one day be interstellar space faring people as well, following the path of the Voyager, doing what we do best,
Explore.

Krypton didn’t fit with anyone,
as it was  the unfriendly one,
it never went beyond it’s limits
even if others did loose their limits.

It was from a forlorn world,
nobody cared to say a word,
to this enigma of another world;
no one wanted to share a word.

The nobles were always preoccupied
with their occupied shells,
they never hung out with the occupied,
nor the unoccupied.

Krypton was mistaken for kryptonite.
It wondered every night,
Why they accused it for the assassination?
it didn’t have the power of absorption.

Krypton had very few of it’s kind,
it didn’t know where they were aligned.
He held the hope of being able to be lined,
with the rest of it’s kind.


Poor Krypton, he was on the farthest
arena of the periodic table
it wished if it could turn the table,
so that it can at least act a bit feeble.

Experience taught this novice,
it calculated the calculations,
to traverse the long distance,
fear hindered the transmissions.

Krypton used to think without links
he was one of the stable nobles,
he wasn’t the one that wobbles
and, one of the table’s baubles.

Despair
Trapped under tons of rock
How did they pass those 17 days,
A brotherhood of men
lost like a child’s shoe in the sand?
Rationing a morsel of food and water
for who knew how long
fate as uncertain as the stale air
and then another seventy days
of darkness and despair.

Freedom
The gradual progress of the drill
and all the careful calculations
before the flimsy cage,  
Encapsulated in a tube of rock,
a miracle of engineering,
determination and daring,
birth canal, difficult and painstaking,
a tunnel towards the light of freedom.

Faith
The prayer of a voice
from the depths of the desert,
A scrap of paper
Waved like a banner of life,
A freed miner kneeling,
resisting  for a moment
the magnet of family.
to give thanks in faith.

Joy*
The raw emotion
ore from the womb of the earth
the intensity of pain and joy
in the faces of the children  
as their fathers returned from the tomb;
a world waiting in the glare of hope
a world for once joined in joy.

I wish...
I wish I could appreciate myself the way you do.

There are things
That I could maybe consider
That would make me believe
That I am the slightest bit interesting,
Or different.

But I feel like those things don’t compare,
When I cannot be competent enough to succeed in everything else.

I still fail to see
What you hold so dearly in me.

When I look to myself,
I do not feel like I am to be mixed up in the crowd,
Or to be like everyone else.

I see myself as standing out in that crowd.
But not to perform or exude confidence,
But rather to overtake the dazzling show someone else is putting on
Just by being themselves.

I jump in front of this amazing person,
Unable to control my actions.
I humiliate myself,
With every eye turned on me.

Maybe
I’m not jumping in front of this person.
Maybe
I’m just being myself.
But being myself is exactly what I hate.

I am once again the Reaper of Happiness.
Not from myself,
But from others.

I am not unfortunate enough to have nothing.
In fact, I have everything.
I have someone who loves me
And who I love back.
I have people who love me,
Even though I don’t say it back.
I have friends who care about me,
And always have my back.
And I have parents
Who feel the joy of raising me.

I have everything


Except myself.

I have stepped out of my eyes

And I’ve seen what it’s like to be an observer.

It is a strange feeling of weightlessness that only occurs when I’m tired.

And it is then,
Then when I realize,
That I am able to live from afar,
Live off calculations.

Smile when she smiles,
Laugh when he laughs.

I am the shrewd observer of myself,
Watching my every move.

I am the eye searching through my window,
Unable to see the full picture of me
Through the thin slits in the blinds.

I am the reflection in my mirror,
Looking away when I remove my clothes.

I am the persona I see of myself online,
Taking ten pictures
Until it looks just right.

Sometimes,
I am the fake facade
That actually likes what she sees.

I am the fake facade,
Who’s smile comes and leaves.

I will never be able to see
What you hold so dearly in me.

Appreciation I give myself comes in small fragments
Like light shining in through a glass pane on a ceiling.

So close, and so intimate
That I can feel the rays warming my skin,
Feel their energy.

But so far,
when I try to reach for the glass pane
In hope
It is far out of reach.
But from my perspective,
It is something so easy to achieve.
And thus,
Happiness becomes something I must  conceive.

I will never reach the point
In which I understand
why you want our hands to be joined.

I am below you,
And you are above me.
A twisted hierarchy
That I will never be unable to see.

So therefore you’d be better off




If you don’t pour all of your valuable self

Into me.

Thrown off course
Thrown from the center
Pushed towards the limb
Pushed towards the edge
Losing luminosity
But where’re the warning signs
As you slide down the curtain
Of a waterfall
With a kiss like a snowflake
Still planted on your cheek
Are we all not mere products
Of broken hearts
Starting our mornings
In the moonlight
Under the dinosaur stars
Who made these calculations
Creation without measure
Or do all specifics
Fall into place post-heaven
The cluster is closed
And somehow you move
Out of the nursery
Company you lose
Constantly peeling off layers
Leaves no room to choose

How many could be calling?
Eitherwise, it is exausting
To be held by own accountability.
Ability for account; a mass
Of those counted.  Weigh creaks
On these levers over my eyes.
A lover in disguise lies
The warmth of this weight.
Lazy and laconic to confuse
The schizophrenic.
Lord I hope these are my own-
If I myself am not the sovereign-
Elaborate equations voiced
From character calculations.
Clacking their sums
In my sincere consideration.

We all have that second or so thought to reach concentric clarity.
When I sing or spiel the art of it, easier to make a monster of me.

The ancients put tremendous matters
On oracles and auguries.  
When godhood speaks, the priest agrees.
Glib cunning fails when trouble batters.  
Calculations have a thousand ways
To err, while chance can cut the odds
To one in ten, or more if gods
Drop hints about our dossiers.  
Augurs read events to come
From entrails, bones, and scattered sticks.  
Their guesses are arithmetics
For problems reasoning can’t sum.

It was a little insane but who
Am I to judge?
You See ....my friend had a theory
how our world came to where it was

So as he told it to me, is how ill tell it
it to you, but not caring if ur believing
But simply I am just repeating
As I found it oddly intriguing

So, it all starts where a society of
of real gods all live
And their kids are subject to
Learning about their power& gifts

And as an assignment school kids
Were told they had to create reality
On a fictitious planet where it'll
inhabit a species with mortality

Using the knowledge you were taught
In science Eco system building
Using philosophy, math. Art anything
You've learned can help your vision

Now the rules of such a creation
We're to calculate things right
Cause once it's created it's living
And we don't extinguish life

So the teacher explained that if
You create and it goes off course
You can only watch it destruct for
example if u Forget a food source

If you forget to make the
physical bodies of the beings
To be properly resilient enough
to match the environmental skeems

You are forced to watch in horror
As the death u caused slowly comes
And only then will you know
What it takes to be a god, and no one

Will have similar projects so no ones
right or wrong that's why you create
It's imaginative and limitless
As long as u properly calculate

So only a week later long before
the deadline when projects are due
one student who made a planet called earth,
that reflected green and blue

And he asked his teacher if he
Could induce the process of creation
Knowing well, that inducing creation comes
after due date&presentation;

So the teacher replied that
Normally he would say no
But ill be honest im curious to see
if u finished only starting 7 days ago

But before you do. I hope you know
The ethical obligation
That comes with creation, don't
U wanna re work calculations?

Cause they need a way to breath
And have a way that their body
Can self remove or evacuate
And the student said like a hobby

I loved I recalculated made
Adjustment after adjustment
So if I'm missing something I won't
Find it cuz I can't see nothing.

So the teacher said go ahead
And the student left that night
To induce the roots that
Wi grow the fruit of life

So time passes and it's time
To present to the classes
This student presented last&when;
he showed earth all of them laughed

And since there is no wrong or right
The student was puzzlesd
As his classmates started asking
Questions so flaws shoe but subtle

"Why would free will have a need"
When u only need to program
The nucleus to force morality
Now it's on you when your plans

Are wrong, but the student
Explained that he could not plan
Like most others did cuz there are
Copious variables when they can

Make their own decisions and
Be there own gods
So I only gave them
the power and respect that we all got

Cause most of your planets are built
By plans, predetermined by control
Where as mine gives them the tools
Without manipulating them wit goals

Only the fear of survival and a
Heightened consciousness so
well aware before acting on wrong
as instinct warns, so they know

What they should do, and would you
Want a program instead of intuition
Robbed of the right to make decision
cuz in my Opinion that is no vision

of someone creating something livin
So overlooked my pessimism
So existence wit decision prevents
planet prison, think of a mechanism

Something designed to mimic
Life mearly living a planned cycle
So most of your plants are more
Mechanisms then life cause vital

Is the presence of survival so
It can serve as a reminder
That recklessness has consequence
To show control of what transpires

Is there's and with this I moved
On well aware it could end
Badly but sadly the same free will
I gave as a gift could curse them

And that's when his teacher said
Class congratulate earth
As I've never once had a student
Factor in free will which births

Authenticity of life otherwise
Your planet is a replication
This projects meaning is
built around the fact that your creation

Wouldn't really be a creation as
A school would never allow
A class of students to cause
creation with no knowledge of how

Uncontrollable true creation is
And that no creations perfected
And bearing the pain of knowing
Something exists in pain directed

By your creation so be patient
Don't spawn life just to see the odd
So the lesson,its dangerous
playing god so it's important u be a god

That's when the teacher dismissed
The class but asked his student
That created earth to stay after
Class so we can decide who is

Gonna break it to my bosses that
You created life
And when they were alone
teacher said plz fill me in and shed light

On how you got everything cohesive
I had to write a new thesis
Many times and felt so blind even
After schooling to breed this

Planet the way you did, how do
They breath explain
So he said out of the choices I had
For elements the easiest to maintain

So it's constant and remains
Is to have what's needed to breath
Surrounding them and that way the
wind acts to spread what they need

So all I had to do was create
an Eco system that's supported by
The same thing but used in a cycle
Opposite to another, so .....in my

case, earth is filled with What the
dominant and sub-dominant life needs
Just like a fish needs to be in water
Earth uses oxygen as its need

So upon designing plant life a tree
And other plants breath
Out the oxygen the eco system needs
so I hope the environment we

Left to them is taken care of,
So the teacher nods and says
One more question which makes
Me wonder if ur advanced or lead

By luck but what was your
thought process when programming how
A basic nucleus functions you
Added so much detail so now

I'm asking why greed, anger and
Other emotional gauges got
So complicated when these emotions
Develop in evolution with thought

So the student replied, ill be honest
I created earth to reflect me
So now I'm more bonded to my
Creation and empathy from me

Would lack if in fact I failed
To know how it felt
To be lonely. Scared or angry
And despite how there all felt

They make us constantly aware
Of ourselves leading to improvement
On a scale more significant so
They would have to be stupid

To not notice with how complicated
They are by instinct and emotion
That if the environment gets bad
Or poverty is had there's a notion

That nags inside them knowing
Something's Wrong and they'll fix it
But ill let u know as time passes
What happens no I'm sorry it isn't

Allowed to go with you. There's
Many issues, and unwritten law
All creations must be stored with
The proper personnel who log

A the findings as some bindings
Have taught us In the past
That evolution after creation has an
Outcome that is worth to track

Each creation and note the
Changes and evolutions as they
May hold the answer To a question
We won't ask til later so I say

You deserve a pat on the back
But we may very well be introuble
As its my job to make sure u don't
Stumble upon it but befuddled

Am I at how you factored In key
elements we purposely leave out
So when your creations crash it's
No harm some as the lessons passed

Cause reproductive systems are
Graphed and added to the math
When your much older in university
Although they teach in class

To give the female of a species
The means to self conceive
With only eggs and the fathers
DNA but still you achieved

A sustainable process, and
If as a novice u can do this
There's no telling what your future
Creations will teach us, but with

All of this comes responsibility
So lets go call the authorities
And let them know we are in
Possession of an unlicensed piece

Of science and be proud. That
U didn't just play god
You weighed the responsibility
And took well measured steps not

Even taught to you, and even
If earth is not with u
It still reflects how complex you as a
God think,so lets hope earth will too

Cuz any misanthropy is misplaced
As imperfections reflexion
is why conception of perfection
Leaves a contradicting impression

Cuz the same section that's stressin
Abnormalities exist
Is the same formality that makes it
normal so this paradox insists

That something is what it isn't
And it isn't what it is
Like love and hate, a perfect life
needs a nature where antonyms sit

And in essence this is why your
world leaves me impressed
But most ppl dont understand this
Theory and will judge it a mess.....

Fibonacci Sequence
            (after a photograph of snails)

their bodies,
more suggestion than shape,
stretch then swell,
trailing slime
on sidewalks,

an eternity
of space to cross
from grass to grass.

one,
then another
and another
undefine themselves,
wet antennae testing
air and sun,

shells slung on backs.
calcium calculations curling
ever inward.

i saw a downed tree two weeks ago.
it was green and full of life
despite the evenly-spaced, spliced logs
its trunk had become.
each with over forty circles,
outstanding the test of time others could not.
to us time is current, to nature it is recurrent.
all we know are the rings around,
cycles repeated, cycles abound.

we stand ready to survive the day,
while nature stows and stocks away.
for next year, for many to come,
nature, like the tree, prepares to endure its run.

we say let's live to see another day,
why not another year? would ten not be okay?
calculations, calculations,
always counting through observation.

abacus please don't feed me lies,
the tree grows rings and then it dies.
blooming, blossoming, full of expression,
its leaves are brown now, nourished recession.

but fear not how, not when, nor why,
this poor giant never planned to die.
see, up they grow, from seedling or sapling,
to shade us all, optimistically happening.
no bowing their chins, no lowering their gaze,
for the sunshine is their life force today.

if ever dazed, lost or swayed,
just climb a tree and learn its ways.
the future can't be met just yet,
go ahead, breathe in the day.
all we know are the rings around,
cycles repeated, cycles abound.

{X2 -x}y{n-n2},t(10) 3.63,P<.05
Bodmas,standard deviation,variance,single mean,wilconxon,mann whitney t-test, standard error of mean,
ED/NED2-(ED)2/N-1,t= ~x-u/(sx)
L.c.m,H.c.m...
If y is 12 and z is 7 find x...

I wonder when I'll get to use  this calculations in real life practicals...

fall back into the midnight grass
where are you?....... it doesn't matter
lie still as your luminescent irises reflect
glittering pinpoints in the night sky
graph them all in your gridded mind
a glorious correlation of novas and dark mist
calculations in the cold
PAIN as a star explodes spontaneously
light years away, undetectable
to most
but PAIN ONLY PAIN as your lungs…
they explode inside you
an unpredictable gone unmeasured.
your frozen head falls
90 degrees
shattered cochlea inches off of holy ground

Vanity shows itself in the smallest
fragments of her body, so subtle it
is almost invisible. Throw away
the measurements, the calculations,
and suddenly you will see ***, victory,
prosperity embodied in the sea foam
of her eyes. Your mind will circle
with body and beauty until you will
be found. She will expose you
for who you really are, someone who sees
all of the magnificent beauty of the sun
in their own reflection. She'll never learn,
she'll never learn. So we must shame her.
Push her away in fiery envy and
destroy her victory so the damage
is done and she cannot be healed.
Persuasion and shame
lick her lips with a cunning tongue, ready
to say whatever must be said in order
to convince me to love her
once more.
I will not heal her.
I will not heal her.

Looking out
Around
There is a generation
Not the one with angelheaded hipsters
That were laid infamously famous
But truly a generation that is its own

Cold, calculating, as they, we, must
Be now that there is everything
There is everything here but right now
As we are surrounded by the everything that
Makes up our filled lives, we concentrate on
The nothing.
So we, they, them, I all must be cold, calculating
Networking, meeting, greeting, cheering,
Pleading for work in the everything that is
Nothing.

And as I look out, through the window
Into our generation, my generation
There is a warmness
A kindness once
unfamiliar to coldness and calculating
Where despite distance, time, values, reasons
Nothing
everything
Bonds are made

Is it this cold networking, greeting, meeting that
Allows for the kindness that kindles the fire
That keeps our cheeks warm and glowing
A soft pink in the dead of night
As we stand by kegs, cups, tables, cops, cars, bars,
By girls vomiting on their own volition or not
By boys raising hell as their families admonish but
Their cultures praise

We, Them, I, They, Us, can not know
What we, them, I, They Us are doing
Just as others didn’t know what they
Were doing, and meaning and becoming maryters for
On a clear fall day, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky
Yet turbulence filled the air, the nation and the world.

They, We, I, Us, Them, do not even
Consider their meaning as they ponder
Fake lives on interposed mediums
Or if they are Jackies,
Or Marilyns or
Audreys

Or if laying down somewhere
just as warm as it is cold
As they touch souls with others
Means anything more than nothing
If they can hold on as they try to let go
When an entire world begs them not to

But the teenage desire to rebel is strong
And the pull of the vast of emotions is stronger
And as we seem to be losing
In clusters
The We.
I.
Us.
They. Them
The fire never dims, and the warm pink glow never flickers
Off our cheeks
And the mix of cold calculations and
Pleasant beatitudes
Combine, like a nights plans
In a gin bucket

And the thought of importance, rarely is thought
Of aside from the few
The brave
Maybe a Marine, but mostly
Those who wish to cure things, change other things
Create things, build things, code things
Things Things Things Things.
T-H-I-N-G-S
For a future of nothing and everything
Everything and nothing

a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil

am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
all-to-come-to-go,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle

you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential

see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing

think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited

for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain

my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn

they, the residuals of a man’s ******* with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa

Who else?

the planets will align
every once in awhile
to arraign all who need
or are deserving of it
those who find themselves
treading the wrong path
those who can no longer
see what lies ahead
despite all those
gazing upwards
     silently questioning
these immaterial messages
will be overlooked
unheeded by the majority
only recognised by the few
comprehended by even fewer

this singular occurrence
rare and rarefied
may be explainable
in its most basic sense
logistically
     empirically
to even the layman
it is but a simple matter
of timings and orbits
calculations of gravity
versus mass and inertia
but that which truly matters
the universal push and pull
will leave even
the most discerning of minds
in the dark

it's in the echo of my voice coming back to me
sitting on the bed of a packed room

the spaces on the walls
where my pictures used to be

a slow dwindling of faces that i saw every week
people increasingly passed out passing out passing by

it was the slow changes in the air and the frequency
with which the sun let its rays drop

the slow wave of people ebbing around
and how much stuff i suddenly had
and then just didn't

why does this world curve the way it does?
i don't ask for the physics but the philosophy

how will i see your face one day when we're the only ones left?
this world after all curves you away from me

oceans and continents
my home split into two my people split into two
torn between different countries continents
ways of living

my life packed into boxes and suitcases
maybe it's not at all it's written up to be
but it's been a great ride

and i let life take care of me
but your face moves and so does mine
it shifts
and i wonder if i ever needed the world to be flat

familiar is nice
change is difficult
i state the obvious but
my heart is in my throat
my hands shake and my legs aren't enough to support me
my my my my my

i don't know where this feeling inside of me began
and i don't know where it ends

i remain perched on the precipice of life
making my calculations
even as winds change
i'm always a step a beat behind
barely anything but that makes all the difference

You have your eyes on someone else
I am happy gazing at the shell
It's a nagging zeitgeist, well
I tried to keep a pretence
Could you tell?

I spinned in endless circles
Blinded by the sparkles
Thought there will be tell-tales
Measured self on  bad scales
Contemporary delusions hail
Careful calculations also fail

I am trying to move on
From something
That was only drawn
In my thoughts, which pawned
My heart, which still prolongs

Tell me
What should I do?
Everyday I am filled with blues
I could throw this forever
If I knew a little, how to!
Or if I had the slightest clue!

There is a very fine line between a heart and a mind,
That are often confined to the smallest of spaces.

For each logical burst, there is an emotional explosion,
leaving very little room for any actual collusion.

Logic is the mind's steady locomotive moving along,
Often derailed by the most violent emotional bomb.

Emotions are the heart's scorching streams of fire burning hotter,
But are easily cooled by buckets of logical water.

The battle between these two is as epic as tectonic,
But possibly far less visible than supersonic.

The internal conflict rages on to yield one winner without a doubt,
Typically depending on the one we most needed out.

Of all the issues that were disputed by the other,
Like making the correct calculations or choosing to spend time with a lover.

<>

“Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?
Have you reckon’d the earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?”


Song of Myself (1892 version) by Walt Whitman

                                                      ­      §§§

A night of reckoning, calculations repeated-checked, sums divided,
did I use too many, or not enough, words to be understood, verbiage eloquent,
did daytime reveal my poetic meanings, or double-occlude it’s essence?

I have reckon’d Manhattan Isle, circumnavigated its riverbed boundaries, a younger me, by kayak rounded it, from the Spuyten Duyvil Creek to the Battery, 14,500 acres give or take, a lifeatime to complete a dead reckoning, an unfinished full configuring.

but haven’t reckon’d that Earth and I will be entwined/entombed in each other’s arms, until such time, one of us or both, will be reduced to cosmic dust, our pride, our poems, will be equally unimportant and irrelevant, I reckon.

in retrospective rear view perspective, come to understand that we spend every moment of our lives, reckoning, determine the odds of which fork we will take, laugh out loud, for each moment, a poem  is titled, the resultant, a poem - who needs a muse, you’ve got choices!

So, yes, Walt, the questing  answers you’ve requested:
Aye, yes, yup, but no to pride, for pride and poetry in one sentence is
a death sentence at multiple levels, pride, poetry, ego, suicide,...sins,
so better no proud for it is the entree, the invitation to fall-fail...
                                                   ­      §§§§§


12:03AM  Frieday
May 15th
my deadline missed,
but what is three minutes,
but empty pride...
Manhattan Island

'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening

how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many

when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen

caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair

cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved

pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation

silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign

shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance

then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates

shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers

their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches

voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations

oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks


"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"



Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg

.

It starts off like a rock flying towards you
No algorithm to predict the speed, to predict the flight
No calculations to be made as you stand dumbfounded
You recognize the impending impact
Brace your muscles
Only hoping it doesn't sting too terribly
That the bruises ware off cleanly

With pens and ink
You scratch a surface with aching fright
torn papers show no signs of the words promised to be revealed in good time

You see ballpoint blood in your veins
Teasing seductive stares, broken by papered fragile skin
Grabbing for a pen you cry out as it bites back in the palm of your hand

Muscles tense
Awaiting impact

it’s okay i’ll be
a different me when
tomorrow comes

i’m turning a year older

and here’s to hoping
that the extra number
will mean i’m stronger;
that 40-odd push-ups
won’t make my muscles
ache for much longer

and a shoutout to my blind spot
the weakest muscle
according to my calculations
that it quickens its palpitations
when a boy smiles

but i’m turning fifteen in
fifteen days and in
fifteen ways i will always
be alone

on my own two feet

but here’s to hoping you will
hold my hand and
be a receptacle of hugs
and tired sighs and puppy eyes
that die

i will be 15 and my heart has been
torn since 13.
i will never
get tired of fixing it up
i will never
give myself up

young but not that young
and old
old, old, old

my hands are threaded thickly
with veins
and my eyes are shrouded
with thick lenses
but there is no wall between me and the world
and the thinnest of spaces between
our shoulders
my heart is protected by a plastic bubble

but this will be the year i swim the sea

to give it all my tears
to let the salt in all my wounds
to feel the pain
to know i’m stronger

to not let anything hinder me