Sometimes I count the edges on the ceiling and with each pointillistic cosmic effigy I begin to connect these vertices until a coherent image emerges delicately. I give them names and personalities I give them stories, backgrounds, and tragedies I give them love, loss, and redemptive maladies just like I give all the faces at the supermarket or strangers passing me by in downtown Lincoln. With the wistful eyes of a hawk, I feel their obscure weeping tell-tale hearts. Always wondering if it’s better this way? Better to be the writer than the written. Better to be the observer than…

I saw the end of the world
at cypress hill
truth is,
it had a sort of an intrepid shrill.
A bluejay conquering
a tree-limb soul departing.
An old man walking on
railroad lines,
whiskey bottles clatter
filling entropic cracks
swelling an eclipsing street lamp
with laughter,
not meant for me,
toothless grin as he
looked me in the eyes
And said,

“The sages
don’t know,
psilocybin resonances
and superfluid DMT
rivers, circular
flow and flower
and bellow
ancient kings
truth,
to fairy gnomes.
But you,
you know that the last
sunset will be a fire
worth remembering. …

I was born in the Nile,
and baptized in the blood of gods.
I was raised by a pack of wolves,
a heartless killer I’ve become.
I lived in the pyramids of Egypt,
there they praised me like a Pharaoh,
and I lived like Ra.

Well, the gods, they made me immortal,
to stand before death and laugh
Well, the gods, they feared my power;
they trembled at the sight of my lands.
Cause I’ve fled the seven plagues
and even survived the ones, I’ve made.

Lord oh! Lord, can you ever forgive a man like me? Lord oh! Lord…

Raindrops splatter circular life
across a dried savanna.
Hunger, beset upon a rugged land,
knows violence and kindness,
and the swaying cacti dance.
Lightning crackles heavenly rage,
and thereupon the edge of day,
mighty chance walks from its den,
searching for the last signs,
of predators — even prey.
I know this place,
this wasteland of man,
where dried sage,
crackles like sea glass,
as the last scorpion,
scuttles across,
a dusty graveyard.

When you look at me I know who I was who I am and where I am going, along the path of love and growth, Death and…

I sent a prayer,
to an equation,
to solve the weariness
of living.
Incalculable despair
and 1/0 nightmares.
But all my moments
have now diverged or digressed
from you,
from the place I regret.

I don’t have faith
in mortal love stories
or heroic quests
to save my soul.
I don’t have trust
in the code written,
in my neural space
without doubt,
without indignant hands
of entropy and time,
squeezing nihilistic truth
from my Buddhistic light.

There was a house with a garden and a dog. There was a couch, a kitchen aroma, fingers coiled, dreams shared, in your…

I wish I were a quark,

strange and charming
colors far hidden
from your eyes.
Excitation of fields,
pebbles on a pond,
dreams echoing
interchanging
with subatomic lore
and quantum love.

I wish I were a quark,

so I would not have
to watch
my quantized heart
break again.
To not be chosen
once more, as darkness
pretends to care,
in the twilight of
my mourning,
I wonder what ghosts will
be there to force,
my eightfold way?

I wish I were a quark,

to take my strange mind to singularities to never be alone. For even a neutron has…

Is sorrow just mine,
or is it shared
like wind over a prairie
or a child’s smile
without care or worry?
And I wonder,
do you feel what I hide
I wonder,
do you know,
what I weep about
in the cold of a night?

Is sorrow light strewn
across space and time
given to a billion year
journey, without a friend
to share its mighty days
of bewildering obscurities,
Across the seas of danger
or valley’s to interchange her.
And yet here I stay
trembling,
in the distance
warmed only,
by a fool's hope. O! such
a beautiful thing.

…