Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.
Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.
But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Computer Of The Long Heart

There’s always sounds in busy small towns

Cars passing by
Trucks loading up
Trains moving on
Metal slamming down

Then there’s you in my heart

Beside the sheet metal warehouses
upended sidewalks
overgrown tallgrasses

The blue of the January sky, suspicious of Spring
like every ocean I’ve looked upon
of course reminds me of your eyes

so though lost, I am always found

With the first mate’s allegiance in my genetics
I’m at home on the ocean or amongst the vastness of stars
so I walk across this busy small town
in the same consciousness we share

And the children chase the dogs as they did
in 1960s Stalingrad, ancient Rome
and now this Americana

Their screams and barks bounce off chain link fences

I go further into the Cosmos with you in my heart

I will die someday, but I believe something eternal
something whole and inseparable

You and I

S.S.B.E., or shared separate biological existence

Whom The Oak Trees Love

I go by the oaks to love you

to walk amongst the woodland grass

under moonlight or breaking sun

with effervescence
in forms of light

my face is insignificance
under shade

so I feel like someone passing

between two places in the hills
or
a million life times in the stars

this is love that moves my human ankles
over dusty rocks of rust and red

this is the having of life

of rust and red from earlier comets
who bore gravitations and ellipses

as every journey or every moment
is an elliptical one

time is the now and the everlasting

that is what the oak trees tell me
when they tune my neurons among them

they share the tones of an unending song

the tones of transmigration

Whence Touched By A Consciousness Corrector

cruising down a highway in L.A.
with an authority of consciousness wrong

she has her badge
it’s in her genetics

i lived in a relationship for 10 years
with an authority of consciousness wrong
you know, the policers and correctors
> it later turned out to be billions of years in fact

we were holding hands with the radiation from
our solar star beaming down on our skin
pouring down, rushing the permeable thresholds

cars and big buildings passed outside the window

that radiation is still beaming within us
and as previously discussed always has been

the trillion level beings or the infinite

some police consciousness wrong
some promote consciousness right
and some are the consciousness eternal
like the shades of orange in the Arizona desert

i prefer them all at once

Jets In The Night

We were in jets last night.
Racing through the air.
Fighter jets.
Listening to the Vince Guaraldi song
You’re In Love Charlie Brown.
It was blaring loudly.
You were smiling very big.
In that way that makes your
upper lip part
and reveal your two front teeth.
You looked like you were
telling me something with your eyes.
“Come fuck me.”
Or, “I really do secretly love you
after all.”
It was a spell.
You couldn’t have said these things to me.
I was the omniscient mind.
The observer of the dream.
Why would you have said these things
to the omniscient mind?
There has to be a glitch
in the consciousness terminal.