I am your undoing
transforming once platonic
solids from the world of ideas
to the world of heartbreak
to burn, an endless fusion of envy
plasmonic desire of fearless
Passion, altering destiny
With a kiss and a single word
contorting space and time
With waiting longing
If endless merciless nights
Watching moonlit shadows
A ballet of all addicts
Watching snowfall
flake the world in diamond
frozen dreams.

Widened open earth flower pedal weeping For you and me, as we sleep, Underneath the silver moon Event horizon maps, of a final sensual meeting Yet here I am, bare as winter, rolling…

Days of wise and wild toils mixed with maddening nights of oblivious rapture bioluminescent incarnated mist moves through ecological cracks amiss And I wonder, If my ancestors could hear my sorrows Through the hypersphere of my dreams I wonder, what they would say, when gravestones that became our days When light is all we needed to warm Our houses, still we dig in the soils For old bones of ancient warnings Yet we are no Buddha’s or angelic voyagers of insight We don’t have the time, in a world that moves by with relativistic suffering as a tired old man…

I know your sweet and simple lies
I know your kisses and
backstabbing knives
I know tenderness
as you shattered my heart
as I did yours, long ago
when the world was still warm
and safe. …

This last decade, the world changed so damn quickly. For Bertrand Proust, once top hacker of the Aletheians and now just another Veritoxel addict thinking he could find hidden code in the artificial nanodevices of the mind. The world within the world. A place called the MindNet. A place they deemed unhackable. But he would hack it.

He would show them all.

But the MindNet had its tricks too. It made things confusing. Reality confounded within the augmented virtual playgrounds of every desire just a thought away. Morality was washed away with its HoloRooms, augmented brothels, and HoloCryptos.

“That fucking…

In these cold and olden times,
winter covers yesterday’s weary mind
wondering what it all meant,
when the heart wears out
leaving trails of hurt and fears left
as an inner light.
And it kills me that I cannot fix
your tears
that I cannot mend the holes,
you try so desperately to fill.

That life,
took more than it gave, that I cannot
avenge your pain.

I am these winterscapes, always waiting for some unattainable spring. Afraid of shadows that mock afraid of the warm days, that follow me into death’s immortal oblivion, words upon parchment warm lips upon…

I wonder,
what happened to that lonely man
who never made a move
who let fear shackle him
to the comforts of nothingness
scribbling mad lines
in fossilized wood.

I wonder,
what happened to his uncle
who didn’t find peace in a bullet?
But instead,
stayed to play
another hand
at the sad man’s card table
of desperate whiskey bets
and cigar hope clouds.

I wonder, what happened to his wife who decided to stay, to build worlds with kisses, a fire of crackling stars and shared Andromeda dreams I wonder if they are still walking along the mountain paths…

This world diamond lattice rigid
and we but water flowing
upwards toward some unknown
abomination of mortal toils.
As heavenly hope falls, lost druids
of hourglass wanderers,
from the cracks of existents
slither into the night with shadow
and the morning without light
querying, if all these cosmic cycles
was for a reason,
that is the multiverse of a single life
would there be morality to cling
or are all things permitted,
in the dunes of eternity?

Why do we wear our shackles, branded with logos and categorical penitentiaries, conceptual consciousness strangling the life right out of us, leaving us…