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.

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Force Lux Imperium Imperius

Would I have to leave you
for Space?
When the cities were sick.
Choking, polluted messes,
discarded, but still not discarded.
Of course, like all great shit shows,
built by the masculine gender.
Gravel, trash, petrochemicals.
Fused, smashed, grinded together.
But look, there is a new glassy
skyscraper rising above.
Phalluses we pat our backs over.
The leaders retire in them.
Guarded by their Imperium Guards.
These are truths of the era.
Dumb, choking, cough.
So would I have to leave you
to love you, to love in a new way,
beyond the dumb dome of
violent boys playing with their
toys.
To kiss the blue bend, bleeding
to black, infinity, freedom.
Civilizations not built around
gold, silicon, and silicon dioxide,
but light, mineral soil, air, the
circle,
the unworded, and the unmolecule.

From A Spaceport

  
It is a spaceport
where we found love.
With its perimeters, sectors,
and airlocks.
A sky above.
Always some kind of sky above.
Kill me when there is no longer
some kind of sky above.
But we lived there still
with its perimeters, sectors,
and airlocks.
With its imported fruit,
monitored air,
and industrial hangers
bringing in the pollutants
from the men of Earth.
In all that is sick.
In the failure and necessity
of our species
we found love.
We found the one necessity
that still survives
in the words, attention, and
glances of the other.
We found the glances of the
other
and the hum, that one long
hum
of everywhere, every moment,
molecule, and memory.

Certain Transformations

What are we going to do?
We could write.
We could write for others.
We could go to space.

Going to space is the same as
writing for others.

It depends on which type of
“for others”
you’re talking about.

You mean,
to create financial gains for others,
then yes, it is a lot like going to space,

like that vast starry infinitude that is
death
and all those fields of stars.
This is what it really means to be a
star.

But to write “for others”
in the sense that you bear their
weight and pain,
well that is actually like going to
space too,
but it’s really more like the creation of
space itself,
the creation of new ways of existence,

like not just generating profit for some
creative goon or stealthy businessman
in the early 21st Century,

but carrying many generations across
the stars by the creation of new
gravity fields
over many tens of thousands of years
and certain transformations.

Satellite At Night

I watched my shadow on the grass
walk in night.

The lamp cast it sad, human,
and remnant.

Is to be human
to be remnant,
          longing to live on some rock or star,
          burning away in the sky
          with 50 million years behind us?

Do these friendships turn into
satellites,
circling high above
so
we notice our silhouette in distance
on the grass . . .

The Flowers

the-flowers

why can’t we all live in
space stations
on earth?

we can
that is where this is going

all of us as remnants
in boxes together
replicating yesterday and
tomorrow

oh
but surrounded by glass
and
space age metal
and corridors with
lots of clean water flowing
then lots of UV light
like
the wanting of flowers

Redemption Of A Red Planet

mars.jpg

We can only but get to Mars now

Can I kiss you?

Can I under those blue white skies
skirt the hues of red and orange
and beige
and feel your textured, crusted lips

dry there

waiting for a humanness to know you

amongst routines, ritual, and duty
to clone
the next progenial elation

to sample
to sample
what were the forms and ways before
in a new kind of gravity
a different context
the answering of ionized metals
for redemption

for our redemption

the new ways of being

so
from this space port I buzz to you

my mercury and iron oxide singing

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings

past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun

I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the white ambient light

I trust the past has melted

I sit in the den

The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above

My Love Was A Mountain In China

I was on life support for two years

Then the unthinkable happened

One day I woke up

I no longer lingered on the landscapes
of Mars
waiting for you to appear

I awoke to another other land

Something like three hundred and
fifty-seven light years away

Flowers blooming
a million shades of green and tall grasses

Mountains rising all around

With even the dust doing its thing
in the air
the way it floats down in the sunlight
from oak trees
to marry the dirt of the woodland trails

It was in these sojourns that I finally
understood
your love

The Information Hack

Would you be upset if I
information hacked you?

The progeny, the progeny, the progeny
are
living

Everyone wanted to be living

In multiplicative ways

Scattered now

It’s what the stars are saying

The clutch of your hair in my hand

Such scents of flowers and milk

Blue cast eyes from the window

to the city

the solar system

and so many galaxies beyond

would I take the genetics of your
presence

your crepulescent thoughts

or your fine statuesque build that would
antiquate the calcite statues of
Andromeda