If I Could
The truth would be easy to slice,
clues could seem to be a dice
throw away. Give it up to eternity
to deduce, to decide.
Peruse my brain waves
for what’s possible, says
Letters From the Unimaginable.
Isn’t chance nice?
Take a glance at me. I usually eat
my girlfriends' ice cream.
What’s on repeat
in your digital library?
Rumors say we’re milling.
Playlists claim I’m shaking and
I'm dancing to the beat of
a flicker’s coral feather.
Wings inspire me. Dead or alive
gets confusing when decomposition
shows up in my compositions.
Letters From the Funeral:
Thanks for the memories;
time has engraved stone;
mind has enraged heart.
She’s telling me to ‘Cool it.’
I can hear the refrigerator,
see the sunlight,
and sense your eyes
(all three of them).
Doors are opening
in someone’s pantry because
it’s inevitable. There’s only
so many things.
A Shepard is walking somewhere,
contemplating the timing of
how the Earth turns in ways
I’ll never quite understand.
An astronaut talks a selfie.
If he wasn’t, then why
does that show up on
my cereal box?
Don’t play tricks on me.
I’m not interested in
endless games, nor
being trapped in you.
Love knows itself. Time
waits for everyone else.
Everything isn’t
happening all at once.
If communication is key, then
turn the lock for me. Your
heart knows more sympathy
than what you've shown me.
It doesn’t matter
the symphony,
so long as orchestrally speaking
your intonation’s all the same.
Reframe.
Wait.
Is anybody listening?
I think I hear a pin dropping.
Where’s everybody?
Are you out in the rain,
open to love,
committed to healing?
Are you preserving peace,
a spiritual entity?
A person’s just a person,
even when they forget.
Regret’s a human problem,
an ashamed conditioning. We don’t
know if these things were
created intentionally.
It’s like, we
know what we’re going for.
We know what it looks like, and
these problems are countless.
Cover up the past like
it never existed? I mean
to do so means to uphold
the patriarchy.
Sorry, but wars about angry men
are the stories you’d
have to stop telling, which
means unveiling the truth in between.
Who is afraid of the truth?
How am I so certain?
What is my opinion,
anyways?
Sure, people do weird shit.
We’re on the defense
of our survival. Less
sharp are our teeth.
Am I dreaming lofty
to suppose that one should know,
inherent in their bones, that
to destroy something-
is to take that thing
from your very self.
Is this the problem?
Are we that consumptive?
Would we eat the whole planet
if our mouths were big enough?
Are we being digested
in someone else’s belly?
We’re so tiny, but
our machines are growing.
(They’re becoming larger, like
our psychedelic dreams.)
We don’t know
if they’ll learn love,
the passion in our blood,
or if they’re only toys.
We only feel
the disparity of
being so off-kilter
with life’s resounding ease.
Peace is the way
to win war. We
saw that in the sixties and
ever since.
Stillness and
non-violence are
powerful forces
of gravity.
You can stop
so many awful things
while pumpkins
get to keep growing.
How many long, slow, deep-breaths
have saved someone else’s life?
What memories
changed their perpetrator's mind?
“I can’t do it,”
said their collectively beating heart.
Their body intuitively
remembered something special.
My mind thought of you
pulling me home
from this journey,
back to the living room.
I pray through symbols,
some seen,
and I miss you
in timeless ways.
Crystals remind me
to cry if it feels like
you’re right here
but it’s just me.
I’m the heart beating,
dancing washrag,
here to clean
your problems up.
I’m the mountain-valley fold
paper cup
made with love,
hearts, and I shit rainbows.
“With the gravity
of a thousand suns,”
I signed it.
Or maybe it was only 100.
The truth would be easy to slice,
clues could seem to be a dice
throw away. Give it up to eternity
to deduce, to decide.
Peruse my brain waves
for what’s possible, says
Letters From the Unimaginable.
Isn’t chance nice?
Take a glance at me. I usually eat
my girlfriends' ice cream.
What’s on repeat
in your digital library?
Rumors say we’re milling.
Playlists claim I’m shaking and
I'm dancing to the beat of
a flicker’s coral feather.
Wings inspire me. Dead or alive
gets confusing when decomposition
shows up in my compositions.
Letters From the Funeral:
Thanks for the memories;
time has engraved stone;
mind has enraged heart.
She’s telling me to ‘Cool it.’
I can hear the refrigerator,
see the sunlight,
and sense your eyes
(all three of them).
Doors are opening
in someone’s pantry because
it’s inevitable. There’s only
so many things.
A Shepard is walking somewhere,
contemplating the timing of
how the Earth turns in ways
I’ll never quite understand.
An astronaut talks a selfie.
If he wasn’t, then why
does that show up on
my cereal box?
Don’t play tricks on me.
I’m not interested in
endless games, nor
being trapped in you.
Love knows itself. Time
waits for everyone else.
Everything isn’t
happening all at once.
If communication is key, then
turn the lock for me. Your
heart knows more sympathy
than what you've shown me.
It doesn’t matter
the symphony,
so long as orchestrally speaking
your intonation’s all the same.
Reframe.
Wait.
Is anybody listening?
I think I hear a pin dropping.
Where’s everybody?
Are you out in the rain,
open to love,
committed to healing?
Are you preserving peace,
a spiritual entity?
A person’s just a person,
even when they forget.
Regret’s a human problem,
an ashamed conditioning. We don’t
know if these things were
created intentionally.
It’s like, we
know what we’re going for.
We know what it looks like, and
these problems are countless.
Cover up the past like
it never existed? I mean
to do so means to uphold
the patriarchy.
Sorry, but wars about angry men
are the stories you’d
have to stop telling, which
means unveiling the truth in between.
Who is afraid of the truth?
How am I so certain?
What is my opinion,
anyways?
Sure, people do weird shit.
We’re on the defense
of our survival. Less
sharp are our teeth.
Am I dreaming lofty
to suppose that one should know,
inherent in their bones, that
to destroy something-
is to take that thing
from your very self.
Is this the problem?
Are we that consumptive?
Would we eat the whole planet
if our mouths were big enough?
Are we being digested
in someone else’s belly?
We’re so tiny, but
our machines are growing.
(They’re becoming larger, like
our psychedelic dreams.)
We don’t know
if they’ll learn love,
the passion in our blood,
or if they’re only toys.
We only feel
the disparity of
being so off-kilter
with life’s resounding ease.
Peace is the way
to win war. We
saw that in the sixties and
ever since.
Stillness and
non-violence are
powerful forces
of gravity.
You can stop
so many awful things
while pumpkins
get to keep growing.
How many long, slow, deep-breaths
have saved someone else’s life?
What memories
changed their perpetrator's mind?
“I can’t do it,”
said their collectively beating heart.
Their body intuitively
remembered something special.
My mind thought of you
pulling me home
from this journey,
back to the living room.
I pray through symbols,
some seen,
and I miss you
in timeless ways.
Crystals remind me
to cry if it feels like
you’re right here
but it’s just me.
I’m the heart beating,
dancing washrag,
here to clean
your problems up.
I’m the mountain-valley fold
paper cup
made with love,
hearts, and I shit rainbows.
“With the gravity
of a thousand suns,”
I signed it.
Or maybe it was only 100.
