More Grace

This mirrored face and glazed eyes are in prison held
With a heart that sees only the scars of an aged tree
And the muck of regret in battle raged form I can tell
This is what I build for my goodness but I cannot see
There is a man of parts an endless heart who is free
To make the wrong as much as the right move upon sky
And sea. But the reflected fool a wizard might be
If his hands would live with his hopes and not wonder why.
And here look at this safe place, here I can have a word to sell
This wife of the universe has many a heart to give
She saw me with more than pupil, as an equal unknown
She saw clay and a way to be the great David of art, to tell
A story; my tales of my two cities. I was to be shown
How I could love the father me and the part I own

With Grace

As any man who in our world does long
for art might see in the mirror a man
of parts, I see  the muck and mud song
the ageing dying leather bound face and
hands broken, bleeding, calous. My wrong
mindedness is oft too sharp for kind hand.
I know everything and nothing, my brawn
is massive but lame in function. I modern man.
Yet somehow, against all cause, her love
matures, she who can sense that which I refuse
or cannot see. Where I see mud she sees clay.
Where I see a man broken by time and abuse
she sees a heart worthy and true. Every day
as wife, mother and queen of endless grace

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