Time Alone

Consciousness becomes

you. Given enough time, you know

all stones and bones defossilize,

enliven, and grow

again, again, again, spiriting

in cycles too vast for theories to vault.

You verb

to hide the fact you’re doing

time alone,

and there’s no escape

but to dream that eons entwine,

infinitely packed without a care

for paradox or spacetime. Here, you stroke

the everbefore-and-after

with your little hours; here, you reach

the gods of everything.

Heat Death of the Universe

In the last throes of the heat death

of what was once a universe,

everything flies apart.

Your body undoes itself, gapes

as the galaxies expand, cool, and thin

to mere suggestions.

The cosmos becomes its own

homeopathic remedy,

while your mind dissolves into space

to inoculate

me against your memory.

 

Fierce Gentleness

The gentle ones get called

the worst of things

(of course they take it lightly),

and they know victory doesn’t lie

in how loud you can be, how proud

or how abrasive, how brutal.

Authenticity shouldn’t be an excuse

to inflict one’s insecurities

on the unsuspecting. No, the wise are still raw

when speaking in varied dulcet tones,

knowing how to reach people at their level,

how to win an argument without arguing

at all. Real strength goes undetected

most of the time, but humbleness is

underrated besides. Why take oneself

so seriously, when everything

is infinitely meaningful

and infinitely meaningless at once?

Gentleness is no mere trojan file,

but wild freedom to live

thoughtfully, and keep youthful, longer,

watching more than talking.

When did authenticity come to mean bravado

and pride in your tragic flaws?

Othello’s sorry, but most asses aren’t,

as an ass continues to be an ass —

glorifying assery, throwing ass parades.

I don’t have to be loud

to be heard. People will lean in

to hear a whisper, and remember it.

Maybe even treasure it.

 

 

 

Human Effort

There are days when you try to be an amazing person

and days when you just try to be a person

at all, still breathing, holding on.

This is the face of someone expertly trying only to breathe

— you probably can’t see it in her eyes,

which is why all judging is but a waste of time.

This is a plea for compassion

for everyone struggling to exist.

 

 

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Life; Death

Disaster days keep us alive.

We eat the dead. We burn the dead

and build from the dead, a fate

no cry of compassion can quit.

Disaster is the elixir of life, bringing

us to boil with adrenaline

until we feel on fire, so alive.

Complete peace only stagnates, dulls and deadens

as cunningly as poison,

and small sips make us all think we’re immune

but real salvation lies

in the terror of existence, where we live

just atoms away from death, always.

Here, there’s nothing to do but dance

between every breath

that could be our last.

Anything could happen.

It’s the disaster days that throw

us onward through time; it’s death

that gives us life until we die.