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.

My Cat The Physicist

  
I remember the thousand
afternoons
with her
made
so obviously
from star dust and rivers
and the tallgrass
of Texas

when she meowed
I did hear the mischievy
of the Big Bang
you know
the thing hearing itself as itself
you
me
these are words you’re reading
right now
in this place in time

I guess you’re on a planet
but it’s possible a space vessel
or
in the plasma of a supernova

information as matter
and matter as information
the Pinky Da Principle

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

Kittens In Radiation

kittens-in-radiation

Gravity has the doors
most everyone ignores

except kittens
who lay on floors

they breathe in this stuff
in daydreams

Everyone wonders what they do
with those eyes

A million point five years
of seeing wave frequencies

the things
that go in those special
gravity special doors

and make worlds recycle
like Christian forgiveness

computers tossed into pure
radiation

Kittens move to kiss each other

and this is only part of why
they lay around on floors

The Kepler Torrents

Kepler satellite

“I want to know the Kepler torrents with you.”

“The Kepler torrents?”

“The ones between Baltawn and Graesheyawn.”

“The ones in the starmap on the back of your
neck?”

“No. The ones further in; and much further out.”

“The way the lifeforms are formed?”

“Yeah, the way the lifeforms are formed.

Well, I guess kind of, sort of.”

“Ah, so the force between objects.”

“Yes, that’s it, but I mean the unaccounted force
between objects.

I guess, the as of yet, unaccounted force
between objects.”

“Oh, so then I think you mean love,
or the love that is greater than the chronicles of
humans.”

“Ok, then come with me to the points between
Baltawn and Graesheyawn.

Come inside of there. Come for the dead. Come
for the living.”

Chicago Chrissy

She’s called “Chicago Chrissy”

She looks at my face in daylight

Over her phone

Wondering who I am

who I could be or become for her

You never looked at the lines on
my face
in daylight
over eggs

I was never born that way for you

The silence of sunlight is listening
unluxury
and evolutionary

It vibrates these screens for us
just so you know
impressions are long and ancient

The Passion Of Is

Did it ever occur to you
that we lived a billion lifetimes
together?

Now
we are ancient

And everything’s ancient that
rests all around

There was that much passion

The oak trees, the red rocks, and the
tallgrass
act
ageless

This is my home

You look out the glass of a
window in a much different land

The passion still is

The sun is another

The Question Of Neutrinos

If I decided to take up an instrument
it would be you.

In the stillness of darkness I would draw
your dark hair to my dreams.

Your blue eyes would go trailing over
the sea.

Yeah, they would go where the heather
flowers blossom.

Then, when the osprey takes to the sky
you would know how much your people
love you

and the manner in which their days are
born from the old and ancient sun.

It all curls over all of us
in a quintepitus frame of time.

The manner in which time is framed
does actually matter.

What Wealth Was A Dinner On Sunday

It’s not until we know where we’re going
that we move through Space in a spaceship.

It’s not until the hour means nothing,
whether through our own destruction or
some other civilization’s grace and innovation.

It’s not until we, ourselves, travel at the
speed of light that we realize what wealth
was a dinner on Sunday and the smell of
Umbrian grapes in our chalice.

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.