of Pi

cherry love.
have
some, banana
cream
won't you, come on dig
in to the deep chocolate airy good-
-ness, yes!
here comes the key lime; smile.
taste the neon tart
so very green
oh, but the apple
will not be out done, savor it
pecan sweet goodness, crunchy comforts
delicious perfect circle

Empty Space

Words are dancing
Hands chanting, the
Shattered matter
Landing on paper, here
There is a super nova
Greater than an atom
Speaking in the vast
Void
An atom occupies, it's
Own universe and defines
The motion of word
And wave
For quarks and top
Quarks as quantum poetry

I am learning

Faster falling
Into the center

Here there is change
In the crumbling stone
You can smell it, see
It, it will consume you
The hurricane, the
Angry roots
They wither
And so do you, but
It does breath
The part of you learning
It dies, it lives

Ask

Am I the storm, the eruption
the super nova

The wind living
Am I dust or mountain?

Do not expect an answer.

space field

when we ran as fast as we knew we could down this forever road
it was all so very like a vacuum of thought, we knew
that as robots we would be immeasurably powerful and gracious
we would be hero's living off the land and space aliens
flying into the sun as the gravitational pull on our ship becomes too
much and our eyes burn out
just before we are incinerated

a mess of things

matter s cat ters
this is
how
a bag of candy, canes
was bagged up by a child
in paper for sale christ
mess
too sweet for
my tastes
these brittle hooks
red and
white, little fingers
hers there
here
where
baby mole-
cules
matt
er
scatt
ers
scatters  s   c   a  tter   s

Red Giant (Quartet of sonnets)

eight billion years

a difficult measure of time

to hold.  it is known within

the astronomy community, this is how long

it will take for the sun to kill itself.

certainty comes within this instant

it will be fantastic and magnetic. the grand inferno

of galactic fury indescribable in intensity and

magnitude, all that is our corner of infinity is at once dust

becoming space and other stars will be born. in the final

hours this deity of our past will decimate all that was once

holy. pulsating, growing in wrath it will

incinerate those who knew what time meant. a red fusion

of helium and hydrogen seen across the universe

a red fusion filled with hydrogen minerals is

the face of every single day, comforted by

the sun. when the sun greets us with an out

ward stretched flair will there be man to scream?

I watch how this will all unfold with comfort in

the years being numbered. do you know their

are only 8 billion left? how many people rebel against

the notion of time ending? I watch across the screen

this red and yellow wave length, it is warm, filled with

the kind of comfort only matched by a hand

slowly wrapping around your throat. there is just

enough time left for us to look at each other

for each of us to look at each other

confused about how we sacrificed children and cows

and nailed each tree to each others, we built stone every

things to erect ourselves, we put it all on a Grecian

urn and threw paint and words at a notion, we racked our

selves. we who held out our hands and remembered to be

forgiven for wanting. the masters painted us art

and we see great torture. Bukowski knew

it was all shit. so much lifted out of our mind and left too

long in the sun. great men live and die to be generous

gods. and the TV reminds me, we

only have eight billion

chances to get a diamond day.

what is the nature of god’s need?

what is the nature of mans need?

eight billion years is

a difficult measure of time

to hold.  it is known within

a red fusion filled with hydrogen that a mineral

is the face of every single day, comforted by

the sun. when the sun greets us with words

for each of us confused about how

we sacrificed children and cows

and nailed each tree to each others, built stone with

every moment and it only took

eight billion faces to call years to this very

instant and remind you. the sun is always ready

the sun is always ready. the sun is always waiting