Epicentric

Sound bombards
assaults the senses
like a lover’s call
parting the waves of the sublime
somehow mocking time
foregoing the necessity
of rhyme
breaking formal law
destroying expectation
with one hand to heaven
and the other to hell
a forced acquaintance
an unnatural stance
so let the tone define
the meaningless
let the waves be also
particles
and disavow
everyone, everything, every rule,
every procedure, every myth, that
haunts to constrain us
taunts to debrain us
ultimately failing to shame us
be epicentric
and self-metered
be without judgment
be a life without bounds
be not led but lead
be unwilling to compromise
when they plead
for you to stand in line
when they cry that you make them feel
uncomfortable
anxious
when you walk your own path
be free
be free
be free
be no longer cuffed to group ideals
embrace chaos with a moral compass
live a life less fleeting
live alive and
be not owned
think hard on what it is
you really own
be a mystery to the world
and only then
will you have been
to thine own self
true.

A formation of stars

In the cold vastness of space
i floated effortlessly
and you, a light year away,
signaled to me
to come

there, you said
we are like a formation of distant stars
shining for the light of the other
collapsing inward at times
beginning again
waiting for a new dream
of a melody swimming
through dark waters
snaking its way into our hearts
not knowing when or where to start
or how it will…

so, let me fly tonight without shame
to see your face light up the shattered skies
to hear you breathe we are not alone
to be reassured that our time
is indeed illusory
if not also precious.

Golem

Slowly lift the plastic shade. Blue sky. Few clouds. A kind of visual quietude. Then a sound. A voice. “Do you need anything, sir?” I smile, looking up, “No. No thank you.” I return my gaze to the horizon. The air is music. Moves through me. Blends into ancient emotions. Melodies. Suggests the timelessness of an underlying reality. Befriends me. Holds me mesmerized. Reminds me of swimming pools I used to dream in. Those watery depths that had invited me to stay like a friend in need of some company. If she were form I would caress her face. Let her know that we are safe. But my life is not water bound. Nor meant for flight. I am earth. I am clay. I am often at odds with being thus made. I want to experience the weightlessness of life unencumbered by the flesh. I want to go off leash for just a moment to run freely amongst infinity. To unknow the meaning of linear certainty. To witness the birth of the soul. To no longer be what I can no longer bear to be. Earthbound. Of this earth. Your golem.

Valkyria

Tuesday morning. Nearing nine. Pencil to paper. Dotting an i. Turning abruptly towards my office window. NYC engulfed in shadow below.

A giant has come to tell a story.

I place my hand upon the glass as if to signal the approaching maiden. 470 miles per hour then halt. 100 floors up - an atom’s breadth away - she rests upon a false precipice with wings extended. She beckons an embrace.

Quiet.

What is happening? Seems time has stopped. Somehow calm. Palm to pane. The surface cool to my touch. I wonder if the giant on the other side can sense my presence as much as I am able to sense its own. Then a crackling cuts through the silence. The window begins to come apart. Fine white lines spider outward in all directions. A thin glacier looming. Then her voice. A whisper living within my head. Till Valhalla!

Earlier this morning. At Kaffe 1668. I had a cup of coffee with a close friend. She was upset. Though I tried I could not console her. She works in an office two doors down from me. I wonder if she is there now. I walk over. She sits at her desk perusing a ledger of some kind. A sort of reckoning of our time. She is a mannequin to my being. Her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. I caress her cheek. I want to hold her. I would like to have comforted her. But my love is alien. Out of place. Out of time.

Back to my office. The window now a semi-translucent canvas of stars. I know this is where I must be. I am not afraid. I am at peace. Again I place my hand upon the glass as if to welcome the Valkyr. I loosen my tie. Breathe in.

Then.

A supernova. Exploding all about me. Into me. Through me. Thousands of tiny bits of glass engulf me. Become me. Instantly undo me. I merge with fire. Disintegrate into ash. I make my way upward through twisting writhing metal. I leave everything and nothing behind.

The next day. 4000 miles away. There upon a vast tundra. A young golden-haired woman upon an enormous dark horse throws her arms heavenward. Transfixed in this pose. She calls out to a flight of ravens above. Till Valhalla!

Lightning, rainbows, heaven

Fecal state the mattress
rots a virgin’s puerile fate
on ashen pallor a cellar door
is dashed into bits

    we are not made of lightning
    we are not made of any such thing
    our existence is not so virtuous
    this hour has come for thieves to take

and bloodied nose
drains floral patterns into storm drain
into street beaten back by rain
some teeth there make for quite the display

    i want to burn money
    turn god into gold
    race dragon fire as it burns
    a village to the ground

but hers is a scream i'd never heard
is magic, is death, is purged,
used, broken, abandoned, discarded,
…he got his fill

    matter is not made of lightning
    is not the fanatic’s calling
     is deeper than we know
    is the very edge of bleating
    rainbows lead to heaven.