Why search for meaning?

We live in meaning

Surrounding us but not beyond

Calcified Krystle’s bathtub rings

Autocorrected my crystals

to a possessive feminine

Authority entitled to everything

Whatever it meant to me

The truth of what I see

Shares held space with

The truth of what you see

Locality and layering

Coats of paint are not a building

The foundation equality of being

Residue of everything true

The purpose of man is two:

Make more of you.

What is left of life

What did you do

It is like something

To be the crust

The husk of trust

The skin of the pudding

Herniated disks exploding

The relativistic speed of us

At the edge about to pop

Stretched to infinity

And the second thing

Is stick together

if life matters

as always or never

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Impressionist dialog

The infinite universe is apprehended through the compression algorithm derived by multiplexing peripheral input of limited array of spectrophotometers, mass spectrometers, pressure plates and gyroscopes, honey whether you do or you don’t believe, we can at least agree, something mysterious in each one of us, something dangerous and petty, violent if necessary, perverted and unsanitary, vestigial and involuntary, pentangular plenipotentiary to enemy territory, the immortal and the way of the monastery beckoning back to the caves and trees, in the dark ages, the shaded places of history whereby many peaceful graces worked the land with fellow hand and hand far from the walled and wicked cities, filth and grime in every crevice, paved with misery, lapping up luxuries but dumpster dive for decency, disposable identities, life-size cardboard intimacy, in a grand sort of Ad hominem fallacy, prithee praytell what in the living hell is the moral of this droll and dilatory postmodern tribalist twenty-four hour newsrecycling convenience story, a cultural no-go zone of sedimentary slaves in existential promontory?

The End of the World

The veiled one replied,

And who wouldn’t be proud of me?

An atmosphere of polka dots of

Light bent on gravitational waves

Within a vast ineffable folded space

Some degrees north of an asteroid

Belt held her nebulae in place

Beneath a sulfuric acid sky.

There is no weave, no hue devised

What can hide divine form from the mind.

Even the deepest blackest masses

Yield their truth with backstage passes 

All in their own due time.

It’s just a little ways

I said to make the 6:58.

Stopped once along the way by

Stutter steps and heavy breath 

With diesel passing on the left.

Three chums into the boxy whale 

Before I scarce could catch its tail

And mouth agape it kindly waits

To catch me in the baleen seats

Along its windowed flanks

Only to spit me out about 

Twenty-some odd times a week.

Been awake awhile now

While most are still asleep. 

I could regret about everything

But I haven’t got the time.

I’m not the strongest link

The weakest or the richest soil

To grow a crop of human

If you hold on to your pride,

My name is gratitude,

I will remember you.

Encoded Message

If you’re reading this set your decoder to green 385-2219 electric soliloquy commenced in futility dimensions of insanity filing papers hastily retreating in amazement frequently. Undermine your own disaster. Commandeer the ship you’re after. Lined up for the next encounter. Warning shot under the starboard brow to the eternal dreadnought firing fingers of furious fox tails impaled in the fox hole castle of Lee press on nails, bear up on hind legs, intensify my experience spray the eyes with irritants and squander the inheritance of your ancestral elegance, the seafaring God-fearing cloak wearing uncaring monsters we used to speak of with reverence. Raiders of every so called new continent, rapacious and radical shepherds of human cattle, conquered the calm peaceful indigenous chattel who fought hard and died long as a monument to every last battle.

Why are we slaughtering every damn thing we see growing up the chickens and ducks the eggs aren’t enough we need all your stuff and the beak too, speaking of coked up the Mount Rushmore vanity bluff erosion will clean up sooner or later, love what’s up will come down son, calm down the sun is just one of those tiny pixels of light and we think it’s so bright, but to everyone else it’s just a another little star twinkling on a clear night. What’s the chance of the weather man being right? About half of the time. Remember that when your family dies, and all your convenient lies wither on the vine. What will you do when your knees go too and your friends don’t even recognize you

The end will come for everyone,
ready or not,
can’t hide, can’t run
can’t buy or fight
your way out of this one
just remember
to make it better
all you have to do is try