When A Human Loves A Cat

He’s not even my son.

He’s not my flesh and blood.

Not my species or countryman.

He can’t utter a word of human language.

And yet I love him with all my heart and soul,
every ounce of my being.

My strange genetics to his ancient, long genetics,
laid there right across the universe,
side by side in this unfathomable miracle of
the same moment in time.

I say it with courage,
I say it ready to crumble in endless
sentient, fecund melancholy…

I love you Bleuets.

Serve the house of the masters
to destroy the masters,
undo their myths.

The little, mighty cat.

Star Fields

At night we lay with each other
a human
and a feline
across a place of star fields
we dream

Penthius
Prosthylkass
Zyvar

Places of the endlessly living

Bent fist and paw
we claw
back to mortalhood

With the sun bleaching out
what was known of spirits

we wake to live with
and love each other
not knowing why we love

what has been made amongst
the particles
pronounced in arrangement

The Hill

Over on the hill
the trash trucks line up like
gigantic old snails waiting
for a chance to discard
their 50% load of plastic,
50% load of food waste
into the county appointed space
for depositing trash.

The trucks come here
day after day
until the space turns into a giant mound
and a refuge for buzzards, rats, and pigeons.

Once the mound is too big
the trash trucks form a new line
for a newly allotted space to begin
building a new mound.

And this goes on indefinitely,
in the name of humanity;
the ever-expanding solution.

Throw

Throw your Stone Age religions
of laws and fear out the window,
the Great Rightening of Civilization
is here.
The dawn of humanity’s childhood
is ending.
The cedars and the oaks
have known,
known for so long.
Or else,
how could they lose limbs and
still live?
How could they mold and rot,
bear both the dead
and the living
and still be,
still continue to live?
The Great Rightening of Civilization
is here.
The trees will lead the planet
hence.

The White Druidess

The brown druid
went into the green oak forest
and came out the white druidess.

The brown druid
spent time listening to the slow
beats of the trees,
kissing their mossen bark
to his lips,
and talking out loud to them
in the clear language of the
common tongue
until enough of the miracles the
trees did do came true
and that endless ancient light
cracked through
into the brown druid,
turning the he into she…

and thus walked out
the white druidess from the
good and ageless woods.

This was in the 7th year before
the Great Rightening of Civilization.

Scalar Message In A Bottle

What if we could take our
video games
off with our gender?

What does that mean?

What if we could
take our gender off?
Going into
the markets of
market capitalism
that
needs labels and names
for everything
partitioned, divided, sold, and
discarded cheaply
underneath
the solar star sun.

What if the sun
demanded itself destruction
for all underneath it
that has underwhelmed
it?

What are these movings
of waves
and energy?

What is this
end to
the binary peoples
and
their binary civilizations?

Why did they
form their civilizations to be binary
when the sun
and all underneath it
are gradients,
scalar principles,
infinite stepping?

Transistors made here
can perform
stepping sequences,
but the people here cannot,
they cannot do this
mentally, nor emotionally.

So they will
die
and they will
destroy their planet.

Pussy On Hand

The scent of
your pussy on my fingers
makes the drive out to the country
even purer
in the morning
with the mid-morning sun
still working its way up into the sky
burning off the last of the dew
on the green and yellow
wavering tallgrass

The coiled fibers of tallgrass
remind me
of the small curly blonde hairs
bunched around the sides of
your forehead,
weedling undergrowth
aside your larger strands of
golden brown hair

The tallgrass speaks to me to be
sentient and live

Love Of Relativity

You call it 23 hours
the past day we spent together.
I call it a lifetime.
That is how our moments feel.
These relative things.
Do I have the courage to live them?
Lives that come, go, and pass.
But I plan to see you again for
another era,
O spirit still spinning in my heart
into
the stars.
The stars have left us spinning
forever.
As us,
within us,
across us,
between us.

I can’t reach your lips.
Your eyes always celebrate Spring
in their blue windows
and still see sadness in the world.
Heavenly mortal.
Into
the stars.
Eviscerated.
But living here, now.

The Crystal Day

It is crystal the dream and day
after
knowing love.
But
why not ceramic
that holds wine and water
in preparation for solace
and sustenance?
Why not terracotta
for thousands of years
perfect for vessels,
made of the earth,
sign of the village?

Crystal clears and obscures,
stops, splits, and opens light
infinite and fixed
so as the nature of the universe,
mysterious by its own instruction set,
unanswerable — though inert
and living.

(Being, having been, vanished…
and continuing to be)

The day after the crystalline
dream
of love
I seek a pitcher
to store and pour
my water,
that I should not thirst.

That I should see you
when you speak,
speak the universe’s psalms

raining everywhere.

Five Thousand Mornings

The bridegroom hopes
in the morning
under stars.

The peacock stirs.
The songbirds yet sing.
The metal to become the ring
still in the ground.
The stars turn around.
Is it be blue or gold
they bring?
Sun-veiled rainy skies
or the eyes and hair
of a Germanic maiden
against the side of his dark skin,
five thousand
mornings forward.

The day turns.
The songbirds have to sing.
And time now his only companion.
The bridegroom becomes a master.
One part man.
One part woman.