The First Year of Love is like Icing

Relationships are like private
Dyadic simulations, or gamification of
Skin and soul, heart in time

Somewhere someone is travelling
In your direction, maybe furiously lonely
Ready to fill your loneliness with love
And we exchange partners
Learning from each other

So serious of the rules and tribulations
But it’s natural to be monogamous
And it’s natural to separate, no point fretting

Perhaps it’s natural for some to love
The same gender, change genders, be polygamous
Through blizzards of emotions, deserts of lust
The heart loves to cross torrents
Dramas and recognize you as a friend

Reckless and beautiful are our needs
To relate, belong, be touched, finding like-minded
Companions in this desolate and tedious existence

But never forget that they are simulations, illusions
Myths we make to feel comfortable
And experiential methods of our own spirit
To educate us about the true reality of the universe
Or that part of her we were meant to experience

Relationships remain the core of human beauty
The customer experience of personal joy
The first year is like icing, then the cake

Begins to show through, too sugary
Or a sweet thing without the right occasion
I’ll wait for the fruit-salad, the encore
The idea to save the best for last.

Trees

There are amazing things that blow
In the wind, green like the color of life
They confide at dawn about
What to do about the exaggeration of

Extinction, joining neighbors immobile
Blowing pollen, comeliness of dropped flowers
They are trees surrounded by skies, rivers, oceans
Earth never had enough of their kind

Such humility and such canvases
Of what it means to be living
And breath and play a function in ecosystems
In harmony with each other

Unlike some creatures that don’t respect
The laws of nature, the idea of giving back
Are humans reciprocal after all?
Logging until all the forests are gone

Logging until all the trees disappear
With cities as barren as wastelands
There are these amazing things that glow
With green, that have invested the idea

That the world agrees with itself
Arranged in an ordered sprinkling
Arms and souls of the land, how they stand?
How they bow, how they serve all life
That we might touch, love and bury ourselves
In their hard-enduring generosity.

Independence Day Poem

The patriots are stuck fooling themselves
There are no nations, only corporations
Governments who manipulate the people

The peasants are conditioned
By a state-run media, the officials are bought
With pomp and parade, you will be duped

Into thinking your Country is the best
But these borders no longer exist
The bonfires and illuminations

These Independence Day shows
Is to cover a corrupt police-state
An oligarchy where the same clans

Inherit the vote, the idea of great nations
Is the greatest myth, China and the United States
Thrive due to the control they exhibit

On their peoples, the psychological control
The creation of “terror” enemies
To perpetuate their greed, all for stars and stripes

On flags, or for expansion of a culture
That personifies all that is glamorous and fake
The presidents do not preserve our dignity

In a system that promotes an individualism
That is the buying into a mechanism of slavery
Slavery to possessions, slavery to inequality
Slavery to a false sense of superiority
If that is patriotism, I want no part in it.

After-Simplicity-Glow

With shy solemnity I swallow experience
And with gold amenity of gratitude
I bathe in the life created for me

By tardy flowers of my nature
They will bloom simply
And I will arch to the sky effortlessly
O dark bright glittering stars

Visible is the universe to me
Wide from the world, I’d leave it behind
With stolen hours for another tomorrow
The world can jealously be all those things
That I wish not to see, artificial motivations

Memes divorced from physicality
I’d prefer to stay organic, neutral, unallied
To the treachery of information corruption.

Forgetfulness is Rain at Night

At last the stage
Where we each must play our part
In dripping years with solemn hearts
To age and alas to forget

The ambitious of youth, and to enter
The lamps of silence and acceptance
Forgetfulness is like a song
That freed us from our old pleasures

Freedom is like a witness, to realize none is there
At last we enter the place
Where we are at the location
Of who we were meant to be, after all

Silence is like a prophecy
Alone in the company of our fading projections
Alike to voice and motionless
Unwearyingly we take our place

Among the living and smouldering eyes of the dead
To stun our fancies into something tangible
And experience the whispering tapestry
Of the fringes of our being, algorithms of
The last potential we can summon.