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.

Quasar Molten, Passing Into Love

  
I wanted to protect
your veins as you lived

They became muddled
and pooled in blood
before me

After the days, the years
I felt them in science

the velocity of gravity
met me in sunshine

it bathed me grandiosely
turned from outer space

and I knew your heart
bleeding there in your
wrists

A Cemetery I Remember

There is a cemetery.
I remember this person there.
I remember my Grandmother.
I remember Aunt Julie.
I remember that person there.
There’s another person
I remember is in there
but I don’t remember exactly
who it was.
Not at this time.
Something about that person
and not remembering that person
reminds me of Walgreen’s,
specifically
the one off Atlantica Ave.
Maybe there’s a memory of Christmas,
Christmas candy?
Maybe it’s Mabel Marzikov,
or Andrew Littleton
at my family’s church in the early 80s?
I’m struggling to remember.

Ghosts In Pieces Falling

the snow knows each other
it’s falling its talking
its conductivity is blue
but across space
it’s black
an electron that is coded for
something
a lot like you
and I
and it’s falling from the sky
with longing
to remember
from whence it hath came
what day was it that made
its name
and made her or him or they
turn to snow
and turn into light

What Made This Eternal

pinky-sun

It was a pedestal from the sun
that healed me.

Precipiced before the town of my youth.

This same pedestal supplanted the
cellular variables in my female
kitty cat
and while it gave me the energy of
my next birth
it also gave her cancer,
like a plant of metabolism,
a burning of time.

If the intuition of the scientists is me
then it is also the way that I have loved
and lost
the delicate and vulnerable souls
that
I have loved.

These afternoons between time
can never be repeated.
They are outside the script of
fragile acceptance

whose acknowledgement
has made me eternal.

Shorn Of Thorns

My home is a heart
not unlike the Aztecs spilled
underneath these same exact stars
relatively speaking
between now and then

My temples are DNA, torment and failure

The vanished scent of Europeans in the
wind

My crystal is the sky receiving its journey
over and over
and racing through time, ignorant time
completely unchanged
uncharged by silicon molecules

unformed again
everything continues

The cacti come and bring a story

The gods stumble to make humans
or
to make the humans human

Their fingers are shorn of thorns upon
our sacred purple night
unlasted
by genetic material memory

We eat the fucking flesh fruit
We gnawl inside our lips
The rooftops are made from burned desert
clay

The days are wasted so very far away

We Remember Love

She died an alcoholic.
Her love was in my heart
one thousand five hundred sixty-four miles away.
This love had made me more mortal
than all the orgasms and funerals in my hours.
This love had been with me in glances down
on muddy floors, dust on countertops,
and when noticing the drops of rain
caught in half-destroyed window screens.
This love had grown from nothingness.
So something similar to the Universe
lived inside my body, something similar
to art, the revolutions amongst particles.
Outside of particles was everything else.
So this love was for her and everything else.
The electricity in her ion channels
no longer rendered from the ethanol.
But the electricity does not die.
There is transference.
Does it go into the air, sail across sweet
tissues or meld into the walls, radio signals or water
crystals suspended in the snow?
But there was something in my heart, each time
she died I lived, I lived oft and oft again apart
born into the stasis between the living and the
dead that many of us evolve to ignore
nor have it in the genetic capabilities we carry.
That old continuum, the holistic continuity.
Many of us grow old and age and many of us grow
old and never age because

we remember love, the broken and the bountiful,
the cyclical, ancient and ever-constant.

We journey to the sun.

Volume Of The Future

Today I want to go into the caves
on the Isle of Lesbos with you

only so we can come out of the cave
together
under the blue sky of the Aegean

and walking together
over rocky terrain
we continue where we last left off

in spiritual and visceral existence.

The scents of the cave are wet salt
and the dampness of years
left a couple trillion stars ago.

Ships in port forget the afternoon
and remember only the Sea.

The Sea is the expanse of your love.
It calls out to the Earth.
It knows it’s known in the cosmos
where the black night is the illusion
of nothing.

So
we lose memory to remember the past
and to learn the volume of the future.

We wear jean shorts and sneakers
as we walk down to the docks.
Our toes are made of dust.

Your hair reminds me of grapes.
Your name is someone else’s.

The Astronaut

Because of your loss

I’ve learned the courage
to travel into the stars
across vast expanses of nothingness

Silence and silence

Darkness and darkness

Empty houses in memories

Nothing else

I would become a space traveler now

Before, I never would have

I know what it takes to love without return
without forgiveness
to love and never be loved again

to ultimately be alone on a cosmic journey

I would have been too terrified
to accept this unending consciousness

and these things that have their end

I am ready for the stars now

Bring me forth to fire

Winter Won’t Kill You 2

The winter won’t kill you there

Buried under leaves

Crusty dried and dusty hardwood leaves

My heart beats

Silence and silence speaks

Silence has a lot to say with these hills
leading the way
to the sundown

I know nothingness equates to everything

because here and also there

in midnight and also where there is no light

the winter won’t kill you

Even if I were to die on the sea

You in your nice home then

would be like more than the appearance
of constellations

turning towards the always you forget and
remember