Loveache

breaking the stone bridge
made of star radiation
a line that runs through Eurasia
the Pocky stick snaps
no words for what you’re feeling
at the precipice of faith
they wanted to believe
mutual understanding with others
The roads of Bimini

onslaught of a mathematical “angel”
unfolding net configuration matrix
Inherent to the country of “Heaven”
not your seonbae’s bitcoin
saying much, while meaning little
energy rays distorting time and space
gods of the old world
earnings whisperer
fluent in internet

thinking in money
a hologram, not a hack
the true form of the “angel”
Giant Forest Guardian Spirit
Onboard AI course correction
the birth of a lower sentient species
directionless, somewhere in the universe
Without a backward glance
Realm of the gods

aliens from the spirit world
a more ancient world
her last devoted friend
Forgotten Tuesday
it’s saying goodbye
love older than the sea
told what to be
dusty roads of history
futuristic petrol station

the hero you wanted to be
just a mess of errors
sacrifices and petty surrenders
home of the memers

Please do not repost without my permission, but you can support my poetry here! Originally written 7/17/20. Copyright, All Rights Reserved. All art, not from the author, belongs to the original artists. This particular work is a Tarot card, from A. E. Waite’s Rider-Waite deck.

frigid waters

if it had, or it hadn’t
if it did, or it didn’t
flat and flattened
a blank slate, from nowhere
the eight riders of Gemini
history is not a stale and dead enterprise
The gifts of wandering stars, and the magi
a soft, half merger for some dye businesses
a circuit, between emanations of light

what’s there and what isn’t
contradictions and doublespeak
living underground, and then finally seeing the sun
the floodgates are open, parting the Red Sea
the last terrible, bitter roots, are finally weeded
ground down and ground out
legends of the giants and djinn
paganism, and the ancient Amber Road
it did and it didn’t

out of basements, and primeval forests
the migration of Eurasians, off of the Steppe
prehistoric fire giants and volcanoes
hidden in the oldest part of Europe
spirits and cities – a world on the moon
thunderous Perun, Iupiter and Indra
there and not there
feel like an out-of-place alien, on earth
leftovers, from the future

Prometheus and the phoenix; light, and fire
the reemergence of real feelings
a great Angel, at the Edge, in the bright light
the secret of Central Asia and the Steppe
an inadequate ideology
warm sea and lush land
when the continents were in unusual places
a tranquil world, shrouded in falling rain
ellipses and uncertainty

put purpose into practice
not a watch, but a Band-Aid
peer over the edge, into a dark grove
it is and it isn’t

Please do not repost without my permission, but you can support my poetry here! Originally written 10/10/20. Copyright, All Rights Reserved. All art, not from the author, belongs to the original artists.