I’m alive
my cells divide
my car emits carbon dioxide
I’m alive
inside and out
walking the tightrope of doubt
I’m alive
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Category: Poetry
The plants do not grow for us.
The animals do not graze for us.
The planets do not spin for us.
whose wavelength is really subdued by death
what pulse crawls through reason’s bones
where in the nucleic pool does hope swim
when did what could be say goodbye to what is
why does freedom bang its head on prison bars
Marbles grind against the darkness
scatter, collide while cells divide
our work is drinking water now
cracked bulbs and candle wax
tumble, tumble, tumble went
the rock box, how it shown
diamond femurs spewed
moved the microscope heart
watching, watching, watching
the old red eye waiting for us all
the mourning star, long dark, cold
infrared souls kaleidoscope in space.
Weary waves slice wide
before photon oysters burst
searching buckshot pearls, shattering
membrane mind-mirrors oscillating
information ocean boils over,
light’s lazy moon lies
ghost-star stories,
seashell wind
whispers.
The event horizon of our
hologram heart swings a choir
around without start, little moons
kneading our tides to futile tunes
a fading beam of light, receding
rotting photons from the strongest sun
vanish in the endless, empty sum.
October
October is here,
it’s either overcast or clear,
and I plan on drinking more beer.
With every step there’s a voice in my mind explaining
how the sun will join its family after the end of time,
a twinkle in eyes of the night sky, the cosmic echo of a
long dead star.
I acknowledge it,
I understand it, but
I don’t believe it.
It’s not that I’d say no, I just want to know.
