The strangest things are inherited.

I wonder if time knows of decay or if,
it being the constant by which we reckon our lives,
it is eternity like the stars, fixed in their places
on the crystalline sphere far away we can see
but never comprehend.

I looked at myself in the mirror today and realized that
even if he is a conservative and cannot understand
how I want to live my life, or what I do when I'm alone.
Nor can he comprehend my rebellious streak
(the one that goes against society, not particulars,
he could never understand particulars)
or my propensity for intellectualism
(an -ism among others he chooses not to subscribe to).

But, even with all these differences, today I realized I looked like him.
I walked with my toothbrush to the front door to close it
after the dogs had come in, and when I returned
to the bathroom mirror, I held my toothbrush
the same way he did in his mouth, I remember.
The strangest things are inherited.

I don't think he would understand this, either.

Lightest Snowfall

There is part of your memory now mixed in
with the lightest snowfall I have ever seen.
Driving slowly past your street listening to music
(not your favorite,
but I could never find any you didn't like.)
and wondering if everything that happened has blame to lay
at my feet or at yours.  I like to think we all break our own hearts.

If, if, if, if, if,
but the past changes everything.
Even when the power of your deep eyes over me,
your stories of things I never wanted to go through,
the mixxed up half truthes that fluttered around my head
in a time when I'd rather take a few shots of anything
then think too long on where I'd got to.

How can these singular snowflakes evoke
memories of us when we were a Summer love?
Everything I see is conected.

No One Else Knows

nothing music ever said
or wind blew in the trees
made me feel like this
not cold, precisely, no
definitely not alone

no one else knows
no one else knows
no one else knows

the devil is in the constants
things that will not disappear
after they've been ignored
all these years

no one else knows
no one else knows
no one else knows

and so we disappear
just an ending
with all the same disgrace
we've been carrying for days

no one else knows
no one else knows
no one else knows

On Grace

Grace is the Experience of Beauty
to share with Existence its providence
But, something terrible must arise
like Angles too beautiful for the mind.
Terror begins here that loss might
be the loss of this Grace.

If stars do speak in this dimension,
thundering voices, to we two alone
how could anything of this beauty,
solace, kind not open a thousand times
to Gates of Horn like Prophets?

Brief the transformation, atoms of time
to a change of being in Grace.
I brave the Angels of Beauty now
to unlock their secrets
where we may be, where we may be.

Gratuitous Platypus Pictures

This is obviously the most important piece of literature written in the history of humanity. Fuck you Bible, fuck you Rosetta Stone, and especially you Stephanie Myers.

These are cuter than your children. Even the ones related to me.

"I present to you the awesome you can NEVER be.

"LOOK AT ME, BITCH, LOOK AT ME WHILE I SWIM OVER YOU!"

Heart of June

Your heart

(the zodiac in June)

leaning towards December

not the passage of time

this must be the rhythm

or dimensionalless pulse

do you hear the vibration

of the way you are designed?

Simple or silent orchestra

these are the stars!

Constellations speaking,

in the heart of June.

Half Existence

A feeling of things half existing
there would be a ghost if
I chose to make one up.
Here we are, learning to crystalize,
lock in our science of emotion.
And, I am everything I feel.
Tonight this is all I am,
doing everything halfway.
Not the least of things, dreaming
with a heart of fire, heart of stone.
Here are these ancient things,
ancient desires I once knew
only through inference
from secondhand sources.
Now I know too much.
Shooting at targets
no one else can see.
How do I know if
these things are real?