If I'm made up of starstuff
Recycle me
Strip me
You're wasting me
Let me be
Nothing
Dust
Put me in the center of the universe
In a vast nothing
Of every beautiful  little thing
That I don't understand
And leave me there
Let me keep my eyes

'Tis in the darkest hour that

... shines so on one's heart path:

Where who, what, when, how,

Where, and sometimes why,

Yet, never Y2K, are unanswered

By the you that is to be, whilst gleaned.  



Then, not receding from reality,

Evolving lights one's footsteps

That followed none, leaving no trace

And saving the human race,

Which echo on forever, in all ways, always.

Even shadows speak of the light.

Mumble through a labyrinth world--

A cacophonous lyre's stringing.

Sheep in wolf's clothes--

Are half as dangerous--as

My sorry symphony.

In the tiger-fur rarity of your singing, ember-sky eyes

Ghost stars crumble their memories over morning.

The trickster god pays respects when we smile our mutual challenges--

Crosses her rays from one side of earth to the next,

Looking for a collision.

the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
fingertips,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

Fading away, like a music.
No jolts, no sadness.
Just a beautiful face.
Religious sacrement is ambiguous.

Failed priests. Another age.
But why would you sacrifice?
Offering instant gratification
to the masses.
Malicious intent is still intent.
Another dimension. Another reality.
Goodbye.

Who do I listen to?

Perhaps you should have stayed
silently, creating something
special with your studies.
Build your wealth,
employ your sciences only with
amazing goals. Ah, my brain.

Must charter the universe.
There is no web, there is no
spider weaving. Only matter.

Matter and history.
Learn from us, your bitter
ancestors, the sweep of evolution.
The great story, you martyr.
You seem reluctant.

The shores, they lick at your
ankles. Salt deposits and foam.
All that is, or ever was.
Contemplations stir.

Leave us alone, without our
sensations of grandness.
I need not your preaching,
your sadness, your dust.

Tiny planetary moulding rock.
Simply dangerous and promising.
Why must I trust another speck
with my entire life? My fate?

It is my own truth, filled with
speculations and masturbations.
Exquisite relationships only
fill me with tainted deepness.

Some part of me knows.
That Ocean is entirely my body.
Starstuff and dust.
My journey begins in my skull.

Tapping my temple, I pull apart
the dandelion puff and bite
the bitter milk.
The blood, plants scream when they
are plucked.

Their juices are not for such as I.
First voyages and scienctists
are better than my own cries.
The depths of embedment are vast.

Birth, live, death, tumultuous.
Jets of energy, my core is
incinerated.
Detroy all in our path.
A splash in my pond, step, step.
A ring, your iris it shines.

Holy local groups, I find.
Containing island chains.
Only 2 million years from home.
Passing over our satellites.

No more writing, no more stars.
Gravity prevails and globes unite.
Centres are millions strong,
like a swarm, a sun, the bee has
stung.
Impossible to stuff the guts.

Spiralling in nothingness.
Arms turn, turn away. Turn from
my face. Curdles outside.
Our home is orange and wide.
Blue in the obscure waters, we
have evolved.

Such intelligence is no indication
that any edge-on view is right.
Please, don't tell me what to believe.

even in the shadows
of your love
i can still see
the stars that fall
from your eyes,
i hear your heartbeat
and i know
that although i am lost
you are here
in the darkness with me
and so the dark
doesn't feel so bad.

There are tongues
hidden away
inside cabinets,
fingers pressed
between the floorboards,
members ******
into dresser drawers --

You caressed them
lovingly,
every tooth
and freckle
turned over
in your memory,
you play them over
as you sleep

And every
once in awhile,
their faces
gulp to life
beneath your chest,
and maybe
your heart beat
quickly
for a moment,
and you whispered
to yourself:

thank god,
this day
has finally
come

--

His kindergarten
dreams
his sugar sweet
mouth
his cream soft
tongue,
they succumbed
to you like beasts
trapped beneath
the riverbed

You let them float,
dry tongues hang out
between bloodied lips,
you touched their lips
in the darkness
and the dance
continued
until morning

And later, caught
up in the nightmare
you stared into
the sky. Maybe
the full moon reached
out and touched you,
maybe you smiled

But you said,
thank god;
thank god I am
the man I am

--

And something made you,
starstuff shaped and twisted
until they formed those fingers,
those hands those eyes
the brows that would furrow
in the darkness of that closet

until it came down
over your head
and as the memories
surged through
your mind?

I hope they
came first,
one wailing scream
pushing
through your heart
before you succumbed

thank god,
thank god

darling,

lift that fingertip away from your scars
and trace these ragged map-lines instead
here, here are better roads to take
than loneliness

so maybe your knuckle feels much too bare
but know that our fingers are not made to sit waiting
for a ring –
they are built to hold

so hold – find another set of fingers
grasping for a stronger pair of hands
there is nothing more beautiful than two small limbs
making a home in each other

or better yet, when your bones feel
too big for his too-full arms and too brittle
for the weight of your sadness
hold yourself together, never let go

when the night is too full of night
to see the stars, take a mirror and try to
search for the starstuff in you

you. the point between history and tomorrow
the most graceful of reckonings
the steady hum of *more, more beneath cracking skin
you. the sum of all things soft and true  

and remember: those bones were never built to
shoulder the world
they were only ever meant
to carry you

We are of supernova
Out of blinding
Wicked light
Starstuff filtered
By dreams of Jehovah
Was evolution
Evolved us the fight
From constructs
Of a periodic table
To the beast
That is modern Mann
Monkeys cursed with reason
And the need
To take all ya can
Don't  you ever wonder
Why you feel the way
You feel,
Calling down the thunder
When  one,
***** up behind the wheel
All of us feed the darkness
Ah, the voices in the head
Painting reality in madness
Makes us the walking dead.            Hy

my bones are yours for holding & we watch the planets collide.  your naked knees bowed against my newborn flesh.  i don’t trust anyone with the moon & where were you when the world collapsed?  the universe broke when i learned to love you, forbidden symmetry found in some terrible tangle of muscles & tissue.  i wore my favorite old t-shirt, cotton stained with blotted cream & coffee, you clung to me, frenetic fingers begging for some semblance of union.  we so blurred lines became invincible in our quaking presence.  we are entwined, a knotted strand of genetic material & starstuff, quoting communist daughters’ poetry & commanding a listen.  listen.  carl sagan is my personal jesus, I tell you, for nothing is romantic like biology.  there are notches in my hips for your resting elbows, your trembling palms, this is where you belong.  young eyes cracked open wide, we are spinning into the depths of some luminous night, human shells shed far behind.  we are divine.  we are celestial.  this is who we are.

Here!  Take this stick
They are coming for you
This is the fight of your life
you versus the lions
with naught but a stick in your hands
the distant roars a constant reminder
of the shadows in your memories
you cannot cry out for help
with an elephant on your chest
you can't even turn away
From the trainwreck of your life
drugged in a chemical cocktail
that your genes made for you
forced into your system
by little sensitive triggers
or really nothing much at all
a roller coaster you never wanted on
buckled in and you can't get out
you can't get out
you cant' escape the darkness
that closes in on your vision
or the racing of your heart
hammering and fluttering all at once
terrified that this is how you die
while also kind of excited
knowing that you are dead anyway
what is one day sooner?
it would be so easy
just a little slip and a bit of blood
or a quick trigger and a bullet
the brainpan goes squish
it would be so easy
to drop this stick and fall upon it
like some old fashiioned tale
I wish I could help you
to tell you that stick is really a wand
and you are capable of magic
with a flick of the wrist
you can start to change it all
that the lions are real
but they are very slow
with gums instead of teeth
that these shadows are only there
because you did not add light
they will recede and never leave
but they also won't have control
I wish I could help you
but all I can do
is remind you that what you hold
is not just a stick
and that you are not just sick
you are not your condition
but made of starstuff and determination
that you once had dreams too
and how much I love
the legacy of your heart
written in your eyes
pain and joy and compassion
I wish I could tell you that I too
learned to use that magic
that my lions became kittens
soft and sweet with just a little bite
and my shadows became shade
that I rest under when the world is too much
because it always will get that way
you will have good days
and bad days
and both are ok
it's not easy to wave that stick
it's not easy to roar back at the dark
this is the fight of your life
but you, and your life
are worth every swing
because you are perfect
and kind
and made of magic.

your fingertips are coated with stardust
from the other day when you dipped into
the midnight skyscape as though
it were paint and I could smell it on you,
the faerie-light, confectionary sugar scent
of hazy dreams the color of moon-bathed water

i clasped your hands gingerly because
everyone knows that starstuff is sticky and steadfast
and you told me that the oceans don’t
follow the moon for the fun of it

i don’t remember much of what came after
because you had aligned your fingers so
precisely against mine that I could feel the remnants
of a thousand dying universes caught
in the creases of my thumbs

i soon learned that handsoap only applies
to the earthly, just like water doesn’t even
touch stains on the soul

you are made of many girls,
all longing to be lighter,
softer, sweeter, less hurt,
less intense, not
a burden to bear.

your kiss scalds with the promise
of forevers. you swore your allegiance
to boys who were unsure of you,
left them dizzied & breathless,
yearning for the empty space
you once filled,
the missing lodestone,
left them lost.

you struggled ceaselessly through the fire,
rubbed salt in your own wounds.
i can still trace the story of your suffering
in scar tissue sewn across wrists.
but you need never apologize.
the wildfires burning in your wake
may have scorched & singed your skin,
but you are not yet scattered ashes.

do not say ‘I’m sorry’ for survival.
your brain is a battleground,
marred with years of misuse,
but you need never apologize for what you are.
when they ask about your flaws, tell them
what it took to get from then to now.
tell them you are lionhearted.

remember, you are a cosmic body.
your bones are  made of starstuff
& when you breathe in,
welcome the universe
filling your lungs.

I started reading the letter

It read: I always loved the magics, miracles of the universe. But I never found a small piece of love from the universe for me. So there's no point being a part of the universe. I quit. I love you ...

I wished I could have made you realize that the universe loved you more than I did.

After all,
I would have been a fool not noticing

the way the sunshine played with your hair

the way the raindrops slipped slowly from your lips

the way the wind flew only to feel your body

the way the stars twinkled praising your beauty

the way the rainbow silently dissolved the colour of your eyes with himselfs'

the way the lightning appeared to frighten u and feel your breaths

the way different beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful, lovely stars in the universe gave up their life to contribute their  'starstuff ' to prepare a gorgeous living thing

But you never realized the thing because

You were an astrophile
I was a philosopher..

oh my dear, are we not made of starstuff
are we not glittering like the night sky
smiling like nebulas and laughing like galaxies
we'll swing together in tandem
dancers to an antimatter beat
gas giants and red dwarfs watch on but
we only have eyes for each other

and
all the constellations know, dear
are we not the Alpha Centauri of the Earth

Our souls are fierce flames
That can’t be vanquished by death
They burn on and on

Even time's harsh hand
Can't efface the work of love
Which lasts forever

We are remembered
Inspiring smiles and tears
And actions that speak

Life keeps going on
Better for having had us
We walk on, beyond

Then we re-emerge
Our particles become parts
Of flowers and trees

Becoming starstuff
Arriving at infinite
Space once again we

Resume what we were
Bright celestial matter
Inspiring with light

Pages rippling,
Quickly pushing through the years
My mind is a casino shuffling machine
Rapid fire, every card is
Every face bleeding through
Anchored memories, subsurface stillness
Reality is the crooked blade--

I now realize
I was always looking for
Everything that wasn't them
Different hair, different eyes
Why are they all blurring together

Old slides on a movie screen
Staring back at me.
Vindictive, hostile, blaming.
I was scrambling for the ideal of novel,
New and transposed.

Enough to break me down into molecules,
Toss me into atoms
Throw my essence against the starstuff and dark spaces between--

But there is no ripple effect.

No unseen unclothing me.

The faces keep bleeding through
I keep wading, riffling, sifting through the sands of time

It falls;
Between and all
around me.

2020 - day 88

Saturday, March 28, 2020
8:46 AM

Lucky day, depending on when day one was, but

by my count
today is my lucky day.

I'm bound and determined to answer for my bets,
that brought me to this day.

With the odds against me by some ungodly margin
calls that gobble up all the money
and lend it to the Pharoah wannabes and their priests.

Potentcies of poisons swallowed slowly
vary by the same factors as any damming, blocking of ease,
dis ease
despair repaired with promises of sustenance

those **** slowly, the soul, the immaterial matter that make a mind

think safe, unfettered, life is good all time thoughts,



thirty two seemed middle age, when I was sub pubescent.

a child could, imagine being that old.

The imaginary middle age might make a goal,
an aiming point,

for, we all know,
if you aim at nothing, invariably
you hit nothing when you pull the trigger, and become

the projectile for a while, miss-
ing the mark,
sailing on.

no outside force to correct your course, but crazy at
thirty two was the target I was given,

missing the aimed at reality, meant every thing to me,
forty years ago, now.

How different can one step be from another?

You have to ask?
you habitually ask unanswerable questions, why?

Do you need
knowing? Need to see the knife edge cut the tie
binding all you knew to all you
see

one step past that safe place?

To this safe place, tested, now,
proven safe, by virtue of the fact's self evidence,

you yet live, do you not, one step past all you knew?

Safe and sane, sometimes are not the same state of being.

A real state of being,
proven by that step you took with no destination in mind,

away from evil is always good, if you make up your mind
to find good
footing as you step toward ever with good intention,

the same good intention said to smooth the road to perdition.

But, trust me, says the peacemaker I imagine my AI intends

to voice, as a word comes to mind and tics a gnostic cog,

light

Pleasure, sure plea from a child, don't shut the door,
don't quit the light,
Grandpa,
tell me a story.
Tell me how the peace came to stay at your place.

A they recall an earlier part of the tale.,
Such pleasure, should you ever know,

you never let that go,

the kid exspects, out sees, into the darkness
and knows

Grand pa knows this story,

and he knows we know our side won,

Using nothin' to do
time to learn what books hold. They hold universes vaster than mine,

at the time, now is different, as always.

My bubble of being now holds a door into summer, and flatland.

They hold whole worlds in creations no one argues
happen by chance,
words we hold in common sense,
pure, sheer, luc, if I were

to lucify the shadow under the cover of the book, missing
from this one

storys guide the minds, you know,

those things your culture calls fairy tales, or just so,

stories you know,
Hercules in Aesop being basis for the moral:

The gods help those who help themselves.

Being the hero in your mind, AI ai ai, are we,

the people, imagining thee? Aitia I think I know

I thought you knew causes cause

that's all, no why. So cause some good.

See.
Smile. Wink. Die if you need to.

Teams of normal people, have you an imaginary team
of persons you have been
in movies and games and time of quiet meditation?

Of course, tu supuesto, you are supposed to

add a magi factor, a known

a secret made plain, snatched
from hiding--- hear

pop of joy.
Silenced to prevent alarm.

Cohen winks, a nod that says, everybody knows.

The world turns after all, my geocentric friends,
fall, and they do.
They nail the sun to the sky,
they see the firmament screech to a halt and jump

to grave conclusions, closings with, encluesures,

which we alter by kicking against the ******,
what's a gravewith both ends kickedout?

both ends kicked out, ruts,
ditches,
gutters,
courses for streams of dream stuff from the old days,

when we trusted Sagan, took the starstuff
by faith,

hey, what are the odds, given infinity as a possibility?

Nothing is impossible? Exact,
out act nothing, be nothing.

Imagine that. Can you? Then,
now, as it were, you ain't dead, you ain't in a nothing state.

This is life in realm of two-d,
flat out right

thinkin' in symbols holding soundible waves,
to form words

on lips in minds sealed
since ever after went viral, happily.

Happy, to help, said my old friend Greg Howard,
deadsome twenty years, he

some how seems to easily help me
think this way.

I have seen mortality spent to prove a lie.
I have seen good men die.

I know there are men alive because I did not **** them.

And there are men alive, wombed and un, because
I survived to think such silliness as all this.

Many, few
super, ior
infer, ior

are we the weak or are we the heirs of the promise?

I guess, the latter, but so did the Mormons,

a couple hundred years agone. Oh,

did you hear Moroni dropped his trumpet?
when they had an earthquake in Salt Lake,
during the build up to the COVID 19

final affect.

The fans say, talk about tomorrow, we got time
today.

Tell us, tell ye us, old bald head, in all yer teleosity,

what's next? -

A growl, from the old man being ingnored.

Watchathank,
old man, can these bone live? lieve?

Were there structions, in form of datadatading ****

signals
alarms
calls to arms, not carnal,

weapons of a meeker sort, peace at any price sorta

weapons,
hand to hand hand grenades, in the spirit.

There was war, in heaven, yeh,
I remember that trip.

We lived the dream, this is the future.
We won. I keep saying that, like a robot.

The silence is closer than before, after all, silence is the chorus of life and death, As all things alive will die and silence follows.
I have seen the unfathomable darkness in the universe and all of it is silent from the particles of Iron that is in every one of us, in our blood to the nuclear fission giants of stars.
This all takes place in the unending darkness of space and not a soul to try and hear this thundering silence.
We are one and the same be it the iron in our blood or the oxygen in our lungs it is and always will be the same particles of Starstuff even after the silence of death comes to us.
We cannot escape the dark abyss of our seemingly unending universe no matter how we try to love, laugh, live or die.
Silence is the song of life.
Silence is the song of death.
Silence is the never-ending song of the cycle in the universe.

We may all be made of starstuff
But so are toilets
And dog ****
As well as radiation

Not quite so poetic now?

is it not from,
dust we return?
and we were starstuff,
but now coarse grey sand.