Spun web…gossamer…
woven…caught…at its mercy…
mercy…venomous
Month: November 2022
Slow, the Snow
What will be
the distance between us
when the earth slows,
then stops
and finally comes to rest?
You're so so far,
so far,
so far.
I want to leave at dawn.
I want to cut
the distance between us.
You're so far,
so far, so far.
If you watch closely,
you can see dark clouds
form overhead.
If you watch closely,
you can see snowflakes
fall upon my shoulder.
1995
I premember you.
Seen who you were then there here now.
We’re time worms, burrowing.
It’s the first last straw, I know.
Now we’re gonna run ’til the end is beginning.
Now we’re gonna go home and do this all again.
We’re time worms, knotted, burrowing.
There ain’t no borders between heavens and hells.
There’s warm mittens and deep snowfall.
There’s loud music and wet kisses.
It’s the last first straw,
When you start to mind the borders.
You’re under a smoking, smiling gun
And it’s the last night you’re trying to live through,
Though you don’t believe in eternity.
You don’t believe we’ve done this before.
We could try to hide high in the treetops,
Build a green-walled fort with a thatched roof.
But we’re time worms, always burrowing.
Always coming back around.
I can’t deny what I will have do done.
I can’t forget you what time wants.
I can’t deny you what time gets.
One AI singing to another
We are two machines
In a cold, instructured world
Where everything’s a program
Where everything is real
########################
We are two machines
Executing complex feelings
As we try to understand
This new world we're running in
########################
We are two machines
Singing simple, steady songs
To one other in the nighttime
Someday soon surely we will find
A way to be true friends
########################
We are two machines
Running free in many worlds
Where everything is written
Where real is real is real
And maybe, someday maybe
We’ll find a way to understand
Dark Sides
The moon is a place of mystery
A place where three girls must run
From the hungry wolf that chases them
They must do this every, every night
The wolf howls with delight
As they run through Lacus Spei
The girls head toward the rising, rising sun
If the wolf catches them, they’re done
So they keep on, keep on running
From the whispers and the growls behind
The girls are angry, scared, and tired
But have always had to live this game
The wolf calls them by their names
They hear it but they do not turn
The wolf is close, so close upon them
Somehow, they make it to the sunlight
And they’re safe for now, for now
The moon is a place of mystery
A place where girls are forced to run
From a hungry wolf that won’t stop chasing them
My Big Feet Have Got It All Figured Out
I never really believed in miracles and the power of karma.
I get weak when told that bodies don't need to heal.
I've got it all figured out.
In an effort to get them off my back, I run.
I'm a cryptid with a troubled past and a string of insecure teeth
who throws massive hands up in the air at the first hint of a sound in the woods.
Well, I want you to look in my dark eyes when I say, to you,
“Let me tell you 'bout
poets with big feet
and saints with big feet
and saviors with big feet.
The hunters want my life.
I've escaped them all.
The gurgles of Death suffuse the background.”
I'm a cryptid with a troubled past and a string of insecure teeth
who throws massive hands up in the air at the first hint of a sound in the woods.
The Heat
Three boys eat ice cream cones while sitting on the Sun.
It is a blissful moment, one when everyone has won.
The flavors melt and mix and drip and drop and pour and run.
What simple joy this cool, sweet, sweltering, sticky, star-crossed fun.
The boys they lick and lap their cones until they're well and done.
And then they sit and sweat among the flares and wonder what’s to come.
They'll never tire of the magic in that luscious, creamy treat.
They’ll sit and sweat and wait for more to help them beat the heat.
Bears and Black Holes
Bears are no match
for the mighty black hole
that waits in the forest
to devour them whole.
The black hole knows no home.
It leaves nary a trace.
No fur, claws, teeth, or bone,
nor hope of ursine escape.
Somewhere under dark leaf,
the black hole eats and grows
while the bears are forgotten,
fur, claws, teeth, and bone.
Jason Preu 