I am a thing of many heartbeats

many walls, many minds.

and some men mark out the ways

ten by ten

by twenty-five

that I can be laid out on a plate

losing count at organelles and

organelles in the tight dry skins of

the mothership organelles.

I’m not in these pages, dearest,

flattened, candied red and blue.

but still you reach, tweeze apart bones

for tiny minds, for glowing truth in lives

crushed flat on a slide of glass

trickle acid on my cuts just to burn me more

and dearest

I thought you said you loved me before.

inside me are organs
inside my cells are organelles
inside me are organelles
they are mine
they are me

they are composed of atoms
they are composed of protons, neutrons, electrons
protons are mine
they are me
neutrons are mine
they are me
electrons are mine
they too are me
electrons and mitochondria and kidneys
are me
I am me

bone comprises skeleton
marrow comprises bone
bone and skeleton are me
marrow too is me
I feel this in my self
I feel this in my bones
bone feels this in my marrow
bone and I share marrow

Thousands of years I have lived
And now I feel like little bacteria
My heart is filled with pores
And people call it ostia

The night's are glazing with pleurobranchia
And thank God I didn't get ******* hemiplegia
Solitary I feel in my animal kingdom
I wish I could do something with my boredom.

How amazing are these euplectellian shrimps
Dieing together imprisoned
Symptoms of true love they show to me
Together up to death they are known to be.

Maybe I am the class imperfecta
But by birth I am a mammalia
I wish we could both be mycorrhiza
And get hallucinated with amanita.

Someday we would make a synapse
And get into the love with mitochondria
And there our nervous system stops
And there the impulse will walk .

No special organelles I have
I'm just 70s ribosome
My heart is incipient
With foldings of mesosome

You should never make fun of someone else’s beliefs
Where you are right now has less than a few hundred million miles of surface area
You can’t even walk on 70% of it
77 years of life on average if you’re a healthy American
That’s only 4,015 weeks
28,105 days on this small planet floating in a large black mass
You’ve already lived about one eighth of your life
Time won’t stop for you
Your days on this blue marble go by and there’s nothing you can do to stop it
Believing there’s something more is nothing to scoff at
Do you really believe that? they say
Do you really believe there is a man in the sky?
Well since you asked here’s my answer
I believe there is meaning in every day
I believe there is a point to waking up and doing good actions
I believe there is a spirit in emotion
And a metaphysical being who loves me endlessly
Yes
I believe in something more
Now it’s my turn
Do you really believe that?
Do you really believe this whole thing is a scientific coincidence?
A cosmic collision at a specific point
An explosion that created all of this
Perfect atoms with electrons that bond and share
Creating perfect cells with all the right organelles
A process of cellular respiration that coordinates as a perfect opposite to photosynthesis
All to maintain homeostasis,
the so-called “wonder process”
that keeps us all alive
Our bodies preserve an exact temperature, the ocean an exact pH and salinity and the ground an exact resistivity
To keep us all alive
Scientific coincidence
We are all a coincidence?
What about that shooting in Newtown
More than one kid took a gun to his head
and what for?
Why was that so tragic?
The shooter could have been conducting a scientific experiment
What is the basis of right and wrong derived from?
What are feelings derived from?
Don’t tell me it’s science
Don’t tell me that it’s science that makes you cry when you get dumped
Science that breaks your heart when you lose that state championship
Science that lightens your spirit when you go home to your beautiful family after a long hard day
It’s not science
It’s your soul
A soul given to you with a light side and a dark side
A soul with genius thoughts and horrid sins
Genius thoughts you should act on
Horrid sins you may commit anyway
and He will love you
He will forgive you
Will your precious science forgive you?
I wouldn’t force anything on anyone
I wouldn’t question beliefs in science had my faith in God not first been tested
I’m not asking you to believe, whether you do or not won’t affect our relations
I just need to explain
To each his own
So don’t laugh at me

In biology today,
We learned that a lysosome
Digests old wornout organelles,
And once it becomes too full,
It will burst,
And its digestive enzymes
Will destroy the cell.

I wonder if the heart will do the same,
Take in
all the lonelys,
all the misfits,
all the hurting,
Take it all in,
Until it bursts and destroys you.

I am cab ma, please
don’t! Is I, lass, I who brought
scald without such pains.

I am mumbling
coherently a ******
most apparently.

Phospholipids leave
envelope area soon
endoplasmic doom.

Opened neutral taste
I’m sinking in laughing at
something sunken in.

What hell overwhelm
brings ribosome organelle
use geared hither, tell?

Seceded certain
atoms like Democritus
withdrew incursion.

Truncated heavy
organelles under tissue
systems use cycles.

Half polypeptide
accents intergenetic
nuclear spaces.

I swear to god I am going to die,
My heart beats irregularly,
The seconds passing me by,
Wide-eyed and trembling,
I can feel my eyes twitching,
The iron flowing through my arteries,
Oxygen diffusing through my lungs,
The decay of cells,
The renewal of organelles,
All in a blink of an eye,
I imagine falling out of my chair,
I should yell,
Scream even,
But it passes,
I move my hand from my chest,
The flesh over my ribs still red,
Nails embedded in my skin,
Hair swaying in the breeze,
Jesus Christ I can’t take it,
I’ll throw a chair,
Write a final letter,
Call someone and tell them I love them,
I know this is it,
The feeling of finality,
If only I had more time.
I wake up today,
Having dodged yet another bullet,
The power button on this computer is cold beneath my finger.
I’ll sit here for hours.
I still can’t believe it,
I should have died yesterday.

Sub-atomic particles
the atoms they form
molecules, cell organelles
cells, machinery of life
organs, organisms
communities and ecosystems
planets, solar systems, galaxies
galactic clusters and their inverse
black holes the doors to other
universes, a contradiction
in terms.
                 For language and its shadow
consciousness must hold matter
the material world snugly inside concepts
theories and hypotheses to be
experimentally verified using vision
and the other senses, collecting data
and interpreting the known facts
accumulated over time.
                                          Can matter
exist without a consciousness to behold it?

Believing in
our mortality (the species)
we have created God
(a supreme being)
probably not carbon-based
to encompass every universe
but is God
inside or outside
consciousness? Can God
tell us what to do
or must we tell God
alone
what to do?
                      Here is ego
projecting personality, exerting force
on community, asserting the existence
and predominance of component DNA.
An already hackneyed theory that DNA
survival drives
procreation, personality, savings bonds
everything but poetry (most poems included).

Mustache, cowboy hat
horse whisperer, gulag master
Odysseus, King Lear
                                      salvation in the details.
Yes, these personalities individual and interesting
as opossum, bear
oak and ash
beech nut, pine cone
Grand Canyon sandstone, Green Mountain granite.

nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.

i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****.
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.

we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.

i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.

finite rapture
well defined. organized
organelles squirming. spurning
unnecessary imposition. repitition
severing me further.
it's still a bright fixture on the horizon
viewed at the far end of winding tunnel of mirrors.

captured in a jar. admired ideas
appreciated from afar.
trembling extended hand retracted.
strong stiches binding. scabs still crusty.
musty attics, shuffling feet.
melting.
swelltering in the possibility
of a potential interpreted properly.

I work better as an idea
than a human.
compose the tune and I'll be the words.
transpose your soul, I'll be the vibrations.
speak between the lines.  I will be blinded.
Beyond thought.
we are aware that we're unaware.

Crystalize.  Mezmerize.
It could be so simple.
To notice the cheeks, but not the dimples.
Four perfect points of light  linger in the shadows
two by two
Ideals. a concrete truth.
Glaciers slowly crack foundations.
Pounding. Pouding.
Resounding. Cannot be ignored
before I am the boomerang
that cracks you on the head.
Blood pooling at the base of my skull
control watered down.
Concrete giving into stress
and a flower has room to bloom/

The good verb “conn”

supersedes nounsies that say much the same

they leave their mark
and their stain.


organelles are found in living cells

but bacteria is barely surviving -

gasping, respire, respiring

god will swallow death as sure as sheol

still,

the microbes must thrive

one sloppy, the other ill


a slender hand of steel

excites it,

like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach

a cleavage emerges  (causing a **** to swell)

increasing her capacity for desire

a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?

caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree

pulling shoals
of distance below,

the south pole is now our goal,

we land on land beyond sea

and space

where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face  -  

     as an aside: he likes her
     but she is not attracted to men or goys,

scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)

into a river where the river never ends

he remains  

sinking into darkness,

adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum

down the chosen depths

of the frozen abyss of Tehom

Organelles, cells, tissues, organs shape my body
My soul, my brain, my heart, my identity
A living mass and a concept ineluctably associated
Without necessarily working adequately together
To build something close to a character
That is, by some, tolerated, by a few, appreciated
Never reaching any sort of unanimity
Leaving the volume of possible interpretations as plenty

Context strictly guides aspects of my behavior
Adding an extra ‘s’ to my idiosyncrasy that primarily seems out of place
When being singular is often what wins the race
Launched by our most ancient ancestor

Am I one or plural?
Do I have one personality or several?
Am I what I think or what I do?
What others see or what I expose?
An ignorant mind with a decent prose
Or a curious man who has no clue?

Asking a question is to get closer to an answer
That might emerge in a distant future
In the meantime, I try to be and do good
To put my loved ones in the best possible mood
Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail
But my stubborn intention will always prevail

How far does a ripple reach?
Over the water, the edge of the pond
Up the tree trunk and into every dimension...

Nothing is secret
Until it reaches my heart's lake
And my mind realizes impermanence.

That is how far your love touches me--
All over my body we're singing your song
Me and all my cells,
And all their organelles.

We push and we pull god in different directions
We freeze and we thaw with the winter's spring
But when your waves touch me that certain way,
I'm inclined to call it love.

I, too, dislike poems.
I’ve tried runes (and rampikes)
but that’s affected
rather than merely effete.
So I call them
figments.
When people query
What do you write?
at a barbecue or birthday party
I say soliloquies,

fractals,
fragments.
Self-similarities,
singulariti­es,
sculptures (scriptures), geometric shapes and series,
three dimensional triangles, spheres
and differential equations,
fractured fairy tales,
Rocky and Bullwinkle,
****** impactions.

On the other hand,
bits, bots, bytes
remnants, scrap, earth
gobs of phlegm in grains of sand,
shards of glass in a slice of hell,
hunks and clumps, curds and whey, sleet and pain, slap in the face
sub-atomic particles, cell organelles,
chunks of energy, cookie crumbs,
rusty trucks stuck in mud, dustings for ghosts,
just plain dumb luck, rocks, concrete, but not tweets.