Inconceivably More.

Garden of countless, diverse seeds,
do you dream
of stars in the visible spectrum
of the sky

and would you innocently laugh
at the notion
that it represents the infinite?

Equipped with sudden, direct
eye contact
and a seductive grin,
she says, “Take
the power

I have awakened
in you and concentrate,
open your inner eye,

keep it steady,
so as to see
that you are inconceivably

more than you took
yourself to be.

Rise above yourself.
Listen to yourself.
Question yourself.

Become who you are.”

Of Black, White and Bigly Dumb Orange.

Silence says enough.

An issue so black and white,
the target
of condemnation
should have been clear,

though you succumbed
to impulse:

you desired
to please everybody
while remaining faithful to admirers:

an impulsive, inherently narcissistic
if not psychopathic strategy
contrary to any gestating

state of honesty.
You stumbled out the truth
you now insulate
with soft, alternative facts…

Too little, too late.

No use trying to shine brightly
after such true colors
have been shown.

Faith, Death.

Don’t seek a god.
If it, she, or he exists
than the arrival

of your eager footsteps
upon its doorstep
should be not only incidental

but a mere step
on your journey towards
ever-greater understanding

as you yearn for the light
of unachievable truth
like a bullheaded moth
hellbent for the sun.

Faith of any sort is the death
of reality’s pursuit.
Greater understanding
never ends.

Within Mind, Through Eyes.

Within your mind,
through your eyes
they can be no less
than space

brothers and sisters,
so fucking compassionate,
at most our extraterrestrial gods,
blinded by naive hopes

that the sordid state
this civilization finds itself in
must be rare

or have been overcome
by any extrasolar intelligence

able to make contact
with us,

but you’re
fucking wrong.

You try to put yourself in their shoes
by means of mind, though never
extend heart in order to experience,

so as to see them
as they see themselves,
embody their world

from within their mind,
through their eyes.

Take a peek, swallow:
try and digest
this fucking nightmare.

Of Oceans and Sentient Arcades.

Testing
waters. Toes
curl. So naturally,
I’m all in.

Let me drown
in a dreadfully unstable ocean
of total lunacy. 

Spying a clearly disturbed reflection
within this fluid skin,
diving in to find a whole, wide world
undetermined, entirely
unaffected by troubles of that sphere
from which you’ve come,
swallowed by this, the legendary land
of desires and nightmares.

Once beneath, I
find yet another damned world
of utter madness 
serving just to shun or hook me.

There is no escape
from friends or enemies: 
in this sentient arcade all
of us are playing games,

keeping score 
drawn in chalk
on our individual boards
in accordance
with our own rules.

So, yeah, fuck
all authority, popularity,
customs, traditions and laws. 

I’ll make my own.

What Do I Tell Us?

Can you imagine 
growing up in a world
that not only fails
to assume

your presence but goes
on to assert that you do not exist,
even: that it is crazy
to entertain the very notion?

At any length, you may suppose
that some from such
a world

were nonetheless subject 
to recurring encounters
with the likes you…

and just tell
me: how should they react?
What is the correct response?

Tell me how we should deal
with this, so I might
embrace it, let it go
to infect the others.

My head is spinning,

increasingly in resonance
with my sisters, brothers…

What do I tell us?

No, I will never
take any words as gospel:
provide for me the avenues

to confirm
what you declare
to be truth.

Into the Blur.

Red. Blue.
Black. White.
For too long:
forever, so

reconcile!

Left to juggle the mundane
and insane
as they are typically
manifested,

which is to say extremes
that come
to characterize the relative

absolute. So I watch closely
as you leave me just to up and dive
into my

ambiguous, ambivalent
blur

and revolutionize
everything.

In the end,
promised:
reconciliation.