Soon I'll be scaring the Blue Herons
fishing on the shore
as I ride around the lake
at lightspeeds
watching the sunrise
and listening to Zeppelin.
Alleluia...I can't wait...

Seeing you drops me

into a roiling hot-spring (extra-dimensionally speaking) where
the insides are known to welter—their opalescent phospholipids

doing the wave at lightspeeds. Faster. Creating
a ring of light. Now the sound of light. From inside, creating

            Me.      You

            make me light.

Oh the way you came towards me in that vermillion cardigan!
The color was not as fierce as your eyes! But I saw, too,

their softness behind—their yolk. And with mine I asked
            as you passed me by
what would happen if I broke            the shimmering membrane?
            
            Would your water leak to blossom
the spell-bound violet amaranths that sleep their promise
                         in Borges’ living garden?
            
            Or would it spill thick in crimson?
The hot sweet density tasting
                         like a wound freshly opened.

The taste I’ve come to know
                                 when women’s eyes have made me light.

It's all so very electric,
this modern, hi-tech
technology moving thoughts,
our feelings at lightspeeds,
continent-to-continent
through cyberspace.

I ponder what people did
without E-mail,
Facebook,
Twitter,
I-Phones & Droids,
X-Boxes,
laptop computers
and all the other
cool plastic-devices
manufactured
to make
our lives easier,
worth living?

I think they probably
talked face-to-face with each other,
wrote letters using real handwriting, not buttons.
They kissed each other on the lips in person,
held hands, breathed on each others necks.
And I am sure there were other things they did with one another best kept private.
It's no secret.....
wow, real intimate-contact!

Things must have been much harder then....

O, how I pray for simplicity,
to feel human touch again!

god does not love me
i think he doesn’t even know my name,
yet i still wonder what he’d call me by once i arrive
at the gates of afterlife,
would he disregard what he wrote in the book of life,
look me in the eye
and call me by the name
my parents christened me with
instead of human number 99560000c, earth #05?

but who am i fooling;
i am but a donut flying across infinity in lightspeeds
one moment there, a moment later swallowed by the hungry monster who awaits
in the black hole

am i a snack for idle gods?
a cut of chicken running from the jaws of earth, unaware
that it is merely flopping from one bowl to another,
flour to egg to crumbs—
a breading offering for the deities

most people have come to accept that, i think
as i jump yet again into the bowl of flour
but i am not most people, as i refuse to believe
the reality that i am but a speck of dust fleeting through life,
an insignificant bug easily quashed by the stinking
foot of infinity,
that old hag.

life is temporary
too much breading does not do any good
i will soon be the trillionth dumped into that pool of hot oil

but **** if i’m not going to try scorching the tongue of a god,
and while i’m at it,
be the most delicious flying donut in the galaxy.