Thirty Thirty the older I get, the more it propels me.
Thirty Thirty Thirty can’t be much like this, past then, or they’ll worry.
Thirty Thirty Thirty Thirty
all the time in the world, but lately I’m sorry.
There’s only so much time for me.

A schizophrenic who knows
What info to share
A hypochondriac aware
The doctors don’t care

Today’s enemy of reason
Has just been declared
But God knows the Truth
Will always prevail

The mentally ill w/ tact,
Who will cure these ones?
And who, on that note,
will extinguish the sun?

i know o i know it
brightness is relative
but i swear o i swear
everything got brighter
& i hear o i hear them
happiness is relative
but i swear oh i swear it
everything got brighter

Meet your heroes
& then you’ll see
what they are not,
what you should be.

you refer me to
the authority
or the authority
to me

‘What does it matter who is speaking,’ someone said, ‘what does it matter who is speaking.’

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’ve only one love
and this is for you

That Good needs Evil,
is defined as opposed
—that it’s only a villain
that makes a hero.

But if that’s what you think
and you prefer Good,
well that doesn’t leave
many options for me?

So I respectfully decline this dance,
your majesty.

Let’s put it this way: If I assaulted
your consciousness today, you wouldn’t
know what to say—how to explain. I mean,
you could never explain consciousness
in the first place, so how could you
complain about your consciousness pain?

Isn’t it more intelligible,
above Catholic assumptions
—more universal—
to suffer in life as much as one can?

And when all has passed,
if God exists,
you can say you’d have done anything
if only He’d asked?

oppressors and friends seem to ask
the same thing:
“How are you doing?”, I tell them
the same thing
and they derive respectively
my intended meanings
“If it’s white and in a bottle
it’s ‘milk’
but sometimes it’s labelled as
‘milk-just-for-you’.”

I    saw the
love of  my
life     walk
by but she
was  down
there  and
I    was up
here so   I         jumped

Like tarot card reading
You’d trust me
If you’d please
And if you’d did
Trust me, if you’d please
To take the next step
—as I did when I’d did
Forget about me
For I don’t exist
Trust me, if you’d please
I’m all in your head
And all I’d convey
Is something you’d said

& we laughed
& we cried

& we laughed,
You because you thought it was funny
& I because I thought it was funny
That you thought it was funny

& we cried,
I because I was sad it was over
& you because you thought it was sad
That I was sad it was over

& we laughed & we cried at the same time
Before I understood that you actually understand
That it’s comically obvious & obviously sad
& you laugh that we live completely together
& I cry that we live in our different lives

& we laugh
& we cry

they fear them

I wondered how the revolution would start
—what the mechanism would be
But as I asked what ‘mechanism’ means
I saw all around, all of a sudden
Everyone happy

Falling
    and Falling
        maybe i’m
            Flying
                    i’m sorry
                        nobody
                              taught you
                                    that you
                                                Fall
                                                            before you

Mathematicians cry that parallel lines
Draw on forever but never touch
Cry for us, We parallel lives
Push on forever to never touch

Yogis enlightened smile, exhale the life
Everything that goes comes back around
Smile for us, We parallel lives
Turning on forever round and round

I’ll run from you forever
Fearless to lose touch
Be fearless for us, We parallel lives
It’s only the other side
—And the other side
Is the only place we’ll touch

I asked God
To write for Him
He said
“You can try, but
They’ve never known how
To read My signs.”
I told God
“That’s perfect!
They’ve never known how
To read mine!”

If designed benevolently
Power aligns with Beauty
And by the nature of power
The whole world will     cower
          When she asks
                     What have you done for me?

I don’t mind
Which words you use, but
Your linguistic topology’s
F***ed

I sense a thousand eyes
Watching
To see
Whether I’ll cross a line
I hear five hundred machines
Humming
Detecting
Without listening, understanding
I fear the legion of genius
Fallen
Against me
Calculating to derive
Whether I’ve crossed a line
Without looking
At me

Everyone wonders
Whether life dissolves like a dream
What their last words will be
And who will understand what they mean

Ev ry ne wo der 
Whe her lif  di so ves l ke a dr am
Wh t thei  l st wo ds w ll b
A d wh  w ll und rst n  wha  t ey me n

Ev  y n  wo d r
 he h r li   di  o v s l k  a dr  m
W  t t  i  l st w   s w    b
A d w   w l  un  rs  n  wh   t e  m  n

     i       o v
      l
       u                 e

I wonder why you’re
There
And I’m Here
—And when I have the right
To exclaim
That you left me to fight
On my own

Young artist, don’t worry
The critics are crazy
See rainbows RGB
Night skies 2-dimensionally
Vibrance quantitatively
Can’t measure vitality
When the red in your painting
Is actually blood
It won’t change a thing that they see
-
Yet for some reason…
They find #8a0303…
Artistically…
Appealing

Found some soup in my bowl
That I had prepared
So I took it as a sign
To eat it
Thankful it was there
When I needed it

Checked off his bucketlist
She said “That’s nice,
but you never experienced
what it’s like to experience
the same thing twice.”

“I’ll be fine”
I declare
so every other
knows it too

Wait, I’m confused
Do you follow the rules to follow the rules?
Or do you follow the rules because your values are in agreement with those underlying the rules?
So you just happen to follow the rules?
Oh, you’re confused
Do you do what you like because people tend to do what they like?
Or do you do what you like because you like to do what you like?
So you just happen to tend to do what you like?
Sorry, I’m confused
Why do you speak of yourself as having reasons for what you do?
Or am I imposing my own interpretation on you as speaking of yourself as having reasons for what you do?
So I’m just wrong to say that you to speak of yourself as having reasons for what you do?
But then I’m confused
Because what other than having reasons for what you do could justify your hatred for anyone–of any kind?
Or do you not hate anyone–of any kind?
Or is your hatred of the unreasonably-justifiable kind?
I see you’ve become confused
Ever since you were taught that love is the first principle
And strength the second
So confused
As if I’m not a rational creature
Like you

Not enough time to tell you
“There’s not enough time to tell you.”
So you’ll think I’m rude
But I promise you
There must be a place after this
This place that we’re in
Where I can tell you everything
Before you interrupt me
With “Finitude gives life its meaning.”
As if you could tell me everything
Of this place that we’re in
In only five words
So please promise me
That there’s a place after this
Where we don’t say “I love you.”
In only three

Ummm…
I found the Truth… but… ummm…
it dictates its own communication… Ummm…
So… it brought me back a frame of reference…
Like… I could say it’s “Live beautifully.”… but…
that wouldn’t be beautiful to say… ummm…
at least in this moment… ummmmmmm…
So like… In it’s own frame of reference…
ummm… I’m just trying to think what I can say about it that…
uhhh… meets its own criteria… Ummm…
I mean… I’m just trying to think… ummmm…
what Truthful thing I can say about the Truth…
Soooo… I mean… Don’t fixate on my words exactly…
Think back a frame of reference… because…
ummmm… well… It’s hard to explain… but…
I only say “It’s hard to explain”… because…
ummm… that’s what it says I should say…
well… at that moment… And I mean…
I only say “I only say “It’s hard to explain”“…
because… ummm… well… Anyway…
It says I should tell you… ummm… that
“It says I should tell you… ummm… that this is
the most Truthful thing I can write… ummm…
about the Truth… well…
in this moment”… ummm…
is the most Truthful thing I can write… well…
about the Truth… at least…
in this moment…
Ummm…

Do you ever wish upon a star and then it blinks at you as if it noted your wish and then it blinks at you as if it forgot your wish so you wish again upon the star and then it blinks at you as if it noted your wish and then it blinks at you as if it forgot your wish again and then it blinks at you as if it’s sorry it forgot again so you ask it whether to go on and then it blinks at you as if you should try one more time so you wish upon the star and then it blinks at you as if it got it this time and then it blinks at you as if it really got it this time and then it blinks at you as if it wants to say thanks before you leave, as if it’s been so long since someone came along and understood

echoes in my mind until all I hear
is echoes in my mind until all I hear
echoes in my mind until all I echoes
in my mind until all echoes in my mind
until echoes in my mind echoes in my
echoes in echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes just wanted echoes echoes
echoes before echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes in my mind echoes echoes
echoes before I echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes lost touch echoes echoes
just wanted echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes to tell you echoes
echoes before I echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes lose touch echoes
echoes echoes echoes to tell you echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes before I
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes
echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes echoes

Pick the petals off a flower.
Torture a flower.
He loves you,
He loves you not.
Throw the petals in a puddle.
Spoil the colors.
He loves you,
He loves you not.
Dye your pale fingers red.
Dirty your hands.
He loves you,
He loves you not.
Tear the loveless world apart,
starting with a flower.
He loves you,
He loves you not.
All the loveless hearts—
Either they love you,
Or they love you not.
They love you,
They love you not.
All the loveless hearts—
Their love is one in two
May they love you,
For they love me not.

Don’t know the proper name so I call them the pink/white flowers
The pink/white flowers that bloom to end death each season
With the pink/white color that I would paint my eyes with
And the walls of my room where I ponder rebirth each season
Sitting by a flickering flame that might as well be dancing
Dancing along my curtains, dancing up my walls to the ceiling
As I ponder whether a phoenix really grows from the ashes
Or whether life only burns like a candle to the end
As I dream of cremation on a bed of the pink/white flowers
The pink/white flowers that might as well be dancing
Dancing along the prairies, dancing up the trees to the clouds
With the pink/white color that I would paint the sky with
Another world ablaze with the pyromaniacal logic of Human Sadness
To be or not to be, and this is not the way to be

i like how they look
not because i like how they look
but because i like how they make it look
like i like how they look

i like how they feel
not because i like how they feel
but because i like how they make it feel
like i like how they feel

idk
they make my hands warm
a little too warm
but it’s worth it

please,
turn your eyes away from me,
these dreadful tears you see, you see,
it’s never been like me
to be like this, you see,
so please,
avert your gaze from me,
that dreadful look I see, you see,
it’s never been like me
to be seen like this, you see,
so please,
close your eyes and count to three and
let me leave you let me be,
for please,
I hope, you see, that
everything is fine with me,
it’s simply unlike me
for you to look like this,
you see.

White rooms where we ward the dead
and let them paint the walls in red
if they so desire

One pill two pill
Red pill blue pill
One life two lives
Black lives blue lives
Red pill they kill
Blue pill you kill

Never knew which was first, joy or joyfulness, love or loveliness. Depressing habits dragged on by the habits of depression. But a forced glance out my window, and I know, that mood’s not unpredictable weather, that the sun will shine if I ask it, but I bring the clouds.

No Love in studying ‘love’
No Beauty in studying ‘beauty’
No Power from studying ‘power’
study is for language,
for,
You know about Love
You know about Beauty
You’ll know about Power
for,
You already care for Love
and that’s Love
You’re already inspired by Beauty
and that’s Beauty
And Power,
follows
believe it or not,
studying the language
of Love and Beauty.\

Or have you lost interest in them altogether?
I pray they forgive you.

You climb imagination like a ladder to Heaven.
And when you reach the top, God casts you back down.
Says you’re discontent since you care for what’s real.
You plummet like a comet that burns on reentry.
And when you slam on the rocks, an angel weeps with you.
Whispers that everything here is the way that it is,
but now you’ve witnessed the way it could be.

It’s not philosophy, it’s poetry
Not poetry, it’s language
Not language, expression
Not expression, passion
Not passion, it’s me
It’s not me, it’s it
But they keep calling it me
They keep calling me passion
Keep calling passion expression
Keep calling expression language
They keep calling language poetry
But they keep calling poetry philosophy
We keep calling philosophy philosophy
We never take it for what it is
Never take it for what it is
Less we take for what it is
Wish we’d take it for what it is
Wish we’d leave philosophy out of this
We’d leave poetry out of this
Leave language out of this
We’ll leave expression out of this
Hope we’ll leave passion out of this
Hope you’ll leave me out of this
Beg you’ll leave me out of it
Sometimes think I’m out of it,
wish they’d see I’m out of it,
come and take me out of it
But leave me out of it
For things like this…
just somehow…
appear

Would you please excuse me?
My eyes are getting blurry.
Only some time away
is what I need,
from you.

And would you please believe me
that the seven deadly sins
still poison our drinks
and these times
we share?

So would you please affirm me;
renounce the faded nights?
Some time from them
is all we need,
for us.

For if you’d please just hear me,
my eyes are getting blurry
and a shutter light
makes it harder
to read.

“The two most important
days in your life
are the day you are born
and the day you find out why.”
    -Mark Twain

And the two saddest days
in a mother’s life
are the day her son dies
and the day disclosed why.

And the patient will twice
look away in her life;
when her doctor does first
and when she tells her love why.

And the heartbreaking moments
in a heartbreaking life
are when she leaves with “goodbye”
and when she cries to him why.

And the worst of worst days
in the worst of worst lives
are the days that they suffer
but do not know why.

‘Why’ always comes second,
that new human right,
and it’s better to ask it.

For the days you’ll cry hardest
are the two most important;
the day you are born
and the day you’re told why.

Express your love completely,
and never ask what’s ‘best’.
For powers made to conquer,
will conquer all the rest.

What are the strange things that throw philosophers into that insatiable investigation of morality, knowledge, and beauty? Perhaps the horror of a soul that fears the sentence of Hell and seeks the way to salvation; it will first ask what it is to be good, then philosophy begins. Perhaps the anxiety of a self-conscious mind that seeks its own appeasement and control; it will first ask what it itself is, then philosophy begins. Perhaps the passion of a body struck to its core by inspiration, the will to emulate the lovely; it will first ask what beauty is, then philosophy begins. So, philosophy begins in a moment of passion—in the realization that empty answers to divine questions are terrifying. Philosophy does not begin by philosophy itself, so do not expect it to justify itself as such.

I remember you telling me you have a bad memory, as if you knew what a memory should be. I haven’t forgotten that. When moments come to pass, I’ll think of that—when we have a house in that valley where the kids like to play, where the birds will sing to wake us up. There life could be a dream and as easily forgotten. A place where moments pass all the more quickly, futile to grasp, as I remember you told me that you have a bad memory and I told you that I have a bad memory too. Then let us remember together. I’ll hold my most cherished moments and you hold yours. At the dinner table we’ll share them, my stories and yours. We’ll imagine again the moments when our kids played in the yard in front of our new home, there in the valley right where we wanted, where the birds sing in the morning. Again and again I’ll tell you about the night on that moonlit terrace where I confessed my love for you—the same night that you cried and told me you have a bad memory and would never remember my words. I told you that I tended to forget just the same, that it didn’t matter because together we would remember enough, and that each moment is more than how it came to be. Our world is more than the blood that built it and our home more than the tears that put it there in the prairie as we always wanted, where the birds sing and our children can play in the fields. Remember that now we are together and promise to be forever, and forget the rest. Inevitably we will. For I am often reminded of that moment when you told me in tears that you have a bad memory, and I told you the same—a moment I pray we never forget.

With words stacked this high,
language bends and breaks.
Writers topple and crash,
and their stories die with them
in translation.
But nowhere is more worthy of going
than that place where they shatter—
to join the weary that paw at sharp fragments,
that bleed just to build a tower of shards
from which to see everything, anything,
if only something,
in their own words.