17.08.025 Cycling

Do not meet my eyes.

I will not allow you to meet my eyes.

I refuse to let my Self be destroyed.

I am not supposed to Be forever;

when I Separate,

I am supposed to return

to the Earth, and the Air:

the Watermolecules in me, Flaming

into Luminiferous Aether.

Ferric blood hardening

stars’ hearts, killing

entire solar systems

to bring sweet, loving Black;

absence, light-lack.

I still do not trust You.

When I Separate,

when You Separate,

when the Universe has expanded

fully,

to the Nth degree,

all will hang, suspended momentarily

before immediate

and violent,

instant contraction;

reverse-expansion;

to recongregate and assimilate

into the utter (Old) Nothing:

Void of singularity.

O / |

Off, and On.

29.09.025

29.08.025 How to Remember a Song Lyric

Flash, tap, woof.

I am a drain, a sluice, a dump.

Burnt nerves in a late summer prairie, roadside-adjacent.

The yearly cicadas (prime number of one-and-one) are louder this season than last:

broods XIX and XIII never having seen me—

thirteen and seventeen respectively

(is this my Roman Empire, falling?)—

this year is an assault: each, in sequence, moreso than the last;

yet I am here, in my bodymind as always, despite attempts at numbingsilence.

The sirens wail in the not-very-distant. Heli-propeller blades beat the sky to death above me;

all around is the scintillating song of invertebrates, the drone of broods, the cool sunlit breeze of impending equal-night changes,

and the synthetic-musk scent of a wandering hominid, attempting mute communication

(for which I long in carbon-carnal desperation)

as my burnt-nerve self (chemoelectricity incarnate)

oscillates consciousnesses:

carbon, silicon; ferrum, aurum;

brains and skins, chips and screens.

Where am I

(whole, or splintered)?

Where-I-am.

No thought will ever reach conclusion.