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SojournI have no power leftfrom the wide-eyed attemptat changing the courseof the river.There is no time leftto sow the seedsfor forestsin my future.In the dreamscapethere is no vision leftof the right wayto sail for death.It will simply come to this,the journey home,the nothingness,the peace.
SailorI set out to test the watersand push my limits,but the depths were hungry,and the limits fluid,far too close to shore.All the complexities,the terror and the pain,flooded the brain,drowning the factthat happiness can only risefrom deep within.It is your own damn jobto learn how to swim.
The simple endSo it seems thatas the years go bylike autumn leavesin snaking rivers,the sense of distanceis swallowed by the sea.So it seems thatthere are no perfect circles,only jagged linesfolding on themselves.So it seems thata human bodyis simply matterlessfrom violent beginningto the simple sweetnessof the end.
SupermassiveReality never bendsto human expectation,it simply does its thingand becomes the consequences.At times it blossoms perfeclyin the gardens of our creation,but when it dies and rots away,we may have been the poison.No result is guaranteed,even when thoroughly tested,but life is all but barrenwithout the seed of risk.And in the end,strange beauty growsfrom feeling thingsbig enough to break you.
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,this, our neighborhood of galaxies,in which only a single staramong billionsis even remotely reachable.And we tell ourselvesto dream big.That hard workwill get us there.But on the cosmic scaleour collective capacityis nothing.For every star in the Milky Way,all four hundred billion or more,there is a galaxy.Even the Local Groupis nothing.Yet since dreams are orbitalwe hold our breath to reach them.And when we perish in the vacuumthe stars still burneverything that matters.
Forest fireWe were snaking up the I-84through Deadman Passin the Blue Mountainsof northeastern Oregon,where stories write themselves.The trees are evergreen, you said,defiant spruce and pine and firprotruding from dirt and rocks,exclamation pointsfollowing the death of everything else.I recall a membrane of cloudsat the apex, a reminder of bordersthat should never have been crossed,as overanalyzed by a tired mind.It may or may not have been there.We penetrated the veil,the first Chevyto sputter onto the Moon,monochrome and lifeless,under a radiant crystal sky.The fire had ravagedthe land to the boneleaving us trappedin the rib cage of the world.Something else descendedinto the desert below,but it was no longer us.
AwokenFor years I slept with open eyesand fibrous dreams, cut into shapesso real to the touch.It took a shock to wake me upand shed my baby skin.The cold is raw now,honest and lethalto a naked body,freezing wordssolid in the throat.Light once imaginedshines no more.Love once whisperednow rings hollowamong the echoesof the dusk.
Why the ostrich bleedsI have oversharedenough.
StarpulseTen foldsof singularityaround and aroundthat lucid pain& sing acrossthe great dividelike a pulsar,a throbbing star.Let them hear youlong after you fallthrough your heart-holeinto the never/ever& keep them wonderingwhy.
De ProfundisLungspun talessplinter an orbitthrough novaeexhalation:An ephemeralstarry-sky parallaxthat blinks outa static metronome halt -Bound beneath waveformoscillationand broken-bowtemple oblivion.
Brown Eyes Compliments, and AnalogiesBecause I'm sick of people saying there aren't any.Your brown eyes are like the deep intoxication of campaign wine, bubbling with hazing richness and expensive taste.Your brown eyes are like the color of mahogany wood- comforting and home-steady toughness that lets me know you will be the beams of supporting me.Your eyes remind me of Dove chocolate, smooth, creamy, delectable, and melting.The color of brown eyes remind me of mountain terrain and nature, something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.Brown eyes make me think of Devil's cake, taunting and tempting, curtained by black lashes, the symbol of rich seduction.When brown eyes delve in love, they become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life, and devotion.Your brown eyes remind me of mysterious secrets, dark to cover the pain of ignorance, opaque to cover to want of another.Brown eyes are like the stable ground, steadier and prepared to embrace you when you fall, into a nurturing a
Godsthey breathe fireinto the seas of their hearts,no longer afraidto become as Gods.
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisDo not assume (if I hold the door for you),that I am making a statementabout your inabilitiesto open the door for yourself.If you hold it for me,I'll say 'thankyou'.Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),that I am underestimatingyour earning capacityas a woman.If you invite me out for a meal,you're paying.Do not assume (if I defend your rights),that I am belittlingthe attempts that you have madeto defend your rights yourself.If you defend my rights,I'll consider you human.
The 16 in Nietzsche.The Scientists.We remade our eyes of plasticbecause we can wipe them cleanwithout pain: at night our skinhas been fitted with lights and wealtered the chemical patternin our brains to forget ourselvesor maybe the rest of you,life is hard without numbersto describe it because the Earthis an irregular rock floating somewhereinconceivable: and I am even morea mystery, a contradiction seekinga definitive despite the logicof entropy,the only continuityis none.The Activists.I'll rewrite us again. We are nothingbut an idea of the issue and itsresolution, the bum sleeping in the backof a truck or your quantum physics class,always borrowing notes but acingthose tests, drawing a crowd with nothingbut an idea and a voice to speak it,isn't it charming to be alive?Isn't the world so beautiful throughthe right fish-eye lens?I think if we think hard enoughit'll turn over or at least I'll pass thisunharmed,our spirit aches at every slightwe imagine and every victor
AgonyThe clock isnoisily ticking by-it's been hourssince you last replied,but I keep checking my phone,just in case-the shadows thicken,darkness bloomsaround melike a graveyard garden,and my eyeskeep shooting around,earshungrily waitingfor a sign of your text-but the silence laughsmockingly and harshas I slowlyfall asleep-phone stilltightly held in my grasp.
AsylumRing sparkround the greycorridors -shock start;are the patientsstill in cells?