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.

against

anger, annoyance
something that can’t be healthy
be better now
the paradox of lost civilizations
fade to nothing
the tragedy of knowing the ending
who wins and who loses
what was left behind
a strange, and uncertain beauty

Band-Aid Warrior
call down the stars and the sky
not futuristic enough
clocks, leading to pipes
a primordial sea of time
the rain and the smell of the rain
pixel people
coyotes howling in the desert
what eternity feels like

feelings of wrath
the end is the end
the heartbroken
fangs and claws
still just as lonely
Evolved to extinction
garbage, regurgitated robot speech
hindsight is culture
the fulcrum of technology

clocks, leading into the internet
when it rains, history is changing
inside a time vent
a civilization that was great too
run-down castles, and ramparts
poke holes in history
Indo-European sky realm
leaving the space colony
the world before

it’s now an open question and a race
AIs and their creators
orchestra of the rain
a hollow strategy

Please do not repost without my permission, but you can support my poetry here! Originally written 8/14/20. Copyright, All Rights Reserved.