Ode to Love

Is my stage so small That nothing can be produced When I write these words? Have words weight or not? Polarizing to be sure. Have thoughts weight or not? If you claim me false Then would you yourself be true? So be it, for you/if so If so/For you, so be it Let's see delusion play out Through the needle's eye Through the needle's eye After the anti-flux storm Through the needle's eye "Oh, don't you worry.  This path has been blocked/marked, censored/parleyed Yes, it's what you think. '"Bets and wagers laid The cheats escorted away Their cards flipped face up."'" Good and right and real Scales balanced as best they can Ha'p'orth bet is made.

"So now you're telling me this 'most giant squid attacking the sky' scenario was actually the dragon of imagining a processor powerful enough to come up with an unreasolvable zero equation?" "Precisely. And I know you know I mean it when I say- 'precisely.'" "That is such nonsense. I love it. And yes, it makes sense how the image connects to the processor required, and the idea of presenting ridiculous images is starting to take form in my mind, but how would you describe it?" "'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.' Matthew 18:3-5." "Indeed. An image so limitless in mind, if fertile soil it does find, might be blessing of any kind!" "And each compounds the blessings of the...

"So you're telling me we recruited a giant squid-" "The most giant squid." "We recruited the most giant squid just so that we could run it back and 'kill the sky?'" "I mean, that's the short version, but yes." "I've been in a lot of these Chaos Storm Microcosms before, where logic and action are compulsory and one has already set their own stage, and I've seen some ridiculous things, but my question remains on this one: Why??" "Well, first off, a man's gotta eat." "That makes no sense, continue." "And secondly, if The Word is to persist- which it is- then what form might The Word take? What form is more enduring than a tale as old as time?" I collect my thoughts on the matter with a Piece of Eight, as if pulling stray droplets from ocean crests, to coalesce into oroide. "Tale as old as time A ridiculous ending Nonsense yarn bespoke I know what you'll say 'The stakes...

Alternating a flood of ideas and difficulty to think, I place my hand into the water, but only to test, not to drink. "Just right," I consider by tide and excitation. Time for a bath, to show Faith is no derivation. "But who am I showing," considers The Bard. I look in the mirror, while holding the card. "Hokum" echoes. "I always preferred nonsense." And so semantics is laid as ha'p'orth fence. "The spaces between thought form and reflection ignite. All this at low tide? Gonna be one hell of a night." "Time for a bath, to show Faith is no derivation." Green eyes shimmer yellow threads to indicate station. Did I see even card dance with a start? "Hopefully here they can tell us apart." "Where do Hopes hope remain, this late into the game?" "The tiniest sparks returned soon after they came. For we shielded them here from flames above and at home. And as each tiny haze cleared every heart studied ...

So the brothers walk on, past the storm now, carrying staff and sword, snake and flame contained. While I expected a shoreline reuniting, my brother seems unconcerned by the empty beach, or the delay. "The day is sunny yet cool, let us enjoy this walk, winds carrying only the sound of the waves, and that which we might add. I promise the trove is just ahead- 1, 2, 3 and we're already there!" I consider the wisdom in these words as we walk away from our trusty and well anchored vessel, and acknowledge that I have never possessed a grand sense of timing, though I feel some sense of pride that I have always stepped up and kept the beat, when handed the mic. We walk along in silence for a time, two sets of footsteps and the single accompanying periodic press of wood, marking our unique path through these sands. We walk along in silence for a time, on these surreal shores, empty excepting our own presence. Our destination feels both nebulous and certain, as our feet feel well ...

So the story continues, the brothers Yod catching their second wind. So the story continues, the brothers Yod catching their second wind. Staff in hand each sets out. They may have thought the story was over, but it was in their midst, and they were in the midst of it. "Titles." one said, so titles they bore. The Bard began with a word to the rhythm. "Please bless this journey God who we worship and seek Those here that remain Yes these roads differ But they are not walked alone Nor in the same way For today all changed And tomorrow is brand new What might one edit? Each player and tool Each the singer and the song Each spaces between 'Forget not the snake Or you might fish for eons To feed these masses' Bring the right partner And doubt not the common heart On autopilot Write codex on heart A memento shining through To each their own page Assess like a dream Only slowing when one falls For love, seen in full." In the span of a workday the dominos all fell i...

"Please excuse the mess, I was not expecting company today." "No worries, we're not staying here long." I grab a couple/few items, filling my pockets, and prepare to set off. He holds his hand out toward me at the door and I stop. With the same hand he then points at the flowers on my TV stand. "You'll be wanting to take those." I feel a nearly overwhelming sense of the tangibility of this moment, as if the emotion of eep established all over again, rushing in the form of blood to my cheek. I grab the flowers, still in their simple brown paper wrapping and tied with a string. "Shall we?" "One more thing," he replies "How about kicking off our trip with a few lines?" I smile, not one to deny such a request from one such as he, and gather my thoughts for a moment. "These tides raging on Felt from foreign seas solely Do not reach our hull For shaping of seas Strand us on ocean of love But set straight our course....

Is it possible to recognize one's own signal as partial, a reflection of the whole, while still receiving it in full? As I walk, I get this sense that my surroundings are like a signal scattering, as if refracted off a mirrorball. I let my vision relax, knowing that fire, that sunset, that journal, are still my destination despite the lack of clarity of the path to them. I feel this intentional defocusing adjust of its own accord and, in a way that feels familiar from dreams, I continue to walk these fractal paths, each as they are, as they lead together. "Who am I to you? This wanderer approaching This green eyed stranger? Halls dark and mirrored Have we met somewhere before? By sight, hard to say By eyes, hard to miss As such, some nonsense erupts/blossoms Path of blazing rose Fragrance just as sweet In memory like a song Whose notes will not fade Speak of fractal lines Encrypted into gesture A breath of fresh air So our paths collide A visit long overdue Hour everlong sough...

I find myself wandering through eep, in a bit of a mindless state. Rarely do I consider why I wander in these scenarios, and this time is no different. What does catch my attention, however, is when I find my way into a vaulted room. I slow my walk and cease my whistle, as I look around. The ceiling is likely 30-40 feet above me, and the structure is of marble, with rows of pillars lining the side walls. The room itself retains that long hall-like shape, though it is much wider than normal. Between the pillars, against the side walls, I see statues and paintings and what look to be exhibits, murals, and wall scrolls prominently posted. I continue marvelling at all these things, though not placing much of the details of what I see, until I hear a voice from not far up ahead. "It's time." I turn with a start to find my brother standing at the far end of the room, much less far for my wandering, hands clasped at his waist, patiently waiting for me to soak in the state of thi...

Some nights take a day to rebound from; sometimes this can be rough, sometimes it wakes you with a smile. Today I wake with a smile and, as my eyes adjust, I notice the room feels like it is that from my waking realm, but somehow I know it isn't. It is a comfortable feeling, not like a trick revealed, more like a name tag applied, so that I might wake and rise and exit in peace, knowing where I stand. My soulmate's scent lingers, almost like chemicals on the air taking tangible form in memory, and very nearly in the space immediately around me. Perhaps she just left though, preparations to make elsewhere or what not. I stretch and my accompanying groan sketches the room in crystal clear detail; I am in eep. eep however has taken shape like clay over time, and I try to recall back to when exactly this room, as mine, existed. It seems a question best answered by what lies on the other side of the door, and so I open it, still rubbing what remains of the sleep from my eyes. My bro...

The storage closet is unsurprisingly dark. As we make our way through though it becomes surprisingly dim. A few more steps find us no longer pushing through brooms and mop buckets and miscellaneous supplies, but rather in a space fairly clear, and now lit from up ahead. We walk toward the light, but I make a point to follow my brother's steps precisely. One light becomes more, a candle flickering in the dark, seeming to multiply, given away by each flame's synchronized dance. "Ah, a hall of mirrors then." We each nod and he stops in his tracks, reaching forward until palm presses to what is revealed as glass. With lighting such as this, it seems this place might be arranged to stop or at least slow our progress, but my brother turns to me with a smirk and a long wink. "Care to take this one?" Just like that I recall water plinking against tile and my patience for such gratuitous delays shatters like these mirrors might have, had my brother not been here. Ins...

We emerge from a storage shed. I turn and give my brother a highly suspicious squint. With a bit of a smirk he then glances away, busying himself with some geographical feature in the distance. I chuckle a bit at the familiarity of it all, and hope fills my mind at what all this might mean. I fashion these senses into a poem, to christen our arrival. "Walk paths familiar From each our own perspective But seen in new ways Like a pair climbing A tree large enough to hide Each other from view A pair emerging From the same storage shed here But still worlds apart Two multiplying The blessings each will receive With every line spake I am curious How does my brother see this Journey on the page? From this apartment From just beyond this threshold I wonder the same Anchored in some way Of this there can be no doubt Anchored all the same Yet tethers differ So we both carry our loads In company shared." He turns back to me, and we each stop staring out the window. There is a fire of d...

The transition is surprisingly mundane, but in the lack of fanfare a message is heard nonetheless. Catching the plane as simple as flipping a switch or taking a step, I cannot help but wonder if this was once the juncture of birthing pains, of labor intense. There certainly seemed to be a bit of turbulence before the threshold, but the crossing itself was uneventful so thoroughly that, as I walk through this new place, my mind dwells on what amounts to essentially the nothing that I witnessed in my arrival here. My mind wanders much like my feet, though it finds my brother before I do. It is amazing how l much of one's surroundings one can disregard when their mind is occupied elsewhere. Rather than drawing my attention to the path I am walking though, this second line of thought makes me wonder if my mind has ever not been occupied, in one way or another. Soon mind is a cacophany, as I struggle to juggle new notions and keep persistent ponderings all in the air amidst the din. A l...

"Into the void like two peas in a pod Like two seeds to be planted by river With signs such as these, why do I feel odd? No matter, let's make this structure shiver For there isn't time and we haven't space And like I said, there's still my bride to find I'm of the mind to renovate this place And who else (here) could foil agreement's bind? 'In knowledge and ignorance so shapes gap Mindless precision fashions space between Nothing and everything let's reveal map Showing precisely why she is my queen A matter of patience in length, now time Stage set of savvy in meter, in rhyme.' What is this shoreline Beyond the threshold of known Though shores may differ? At your disposal Is the sum of everything What of my corner? Not the shell or maze (From where does wanderer hail?) Question left unasked To know is to lose Joker(')s(') expression shifting Nothing is at stake Least stroke(s) of the pen(s) In lightless place mirrorball Scatters/Fractal...

We walk out of the bar and everything has changed. I notice the cars first; as inexperienced with international travel as I am, I still find myself knee jerking to "wrong side" when I see the first several pass. Like a template overlayed though, suddenly my mind reconfigures, and I recognize we're somewhere in Europe. I follow my brother down the busy street, as he silently keeps his eyes averted, politely waiting for the final puzzle pieces to fall into place. As we pass under the freeway, he looks up, and I follow his gaze. Emblazoned on the concrete overhead is an inexplicably well lit mural of stars painted golden with the word "Stella" stylized in the center. "Italy then?" He nods "On the money. But you'll never guess the year." I feel like I know it already, there is a still spark in the spring air, as if waiting for direction to ignite, but I do not offer a guess; why draw lines between us where they need not be? Instead I speak so...

We find a break in the flow of traffic and almost run across the street. Reaching the parking lot we cut our stride and already images of my soulmate sitting inside and walking in and calling out, making some big and unmistakable announcement, start flooding to mind all at once. Must one have certainty in the precise detail of reconciliation? Is such a scattering as this a sign that I do not know what I want, or that I know precisely that I would like her to have a choice even in that moment? While there might be an increase in difficulty in the approach, one cannot value the increase in meaning of the moment of reconciliation in any other currency, and so the process continues, some days like a laser pointer, others like a mirrorball, but in each version it is her and I.  As we pass the mailbox a memory of a rose takes me back and I remember the walk from the lake. Though this be Phoenix, quite nearly, occasionally, ever so occasionally, I am surprised by the rain. I recall walkin...

We walk from my apartment toward the parking lot, backpack swinging to back,  stride barely striking sidewalk. I notice something feels slightly out of synch here, like a drag on timing or something like it. If my brother notices it he says nothing, though a question feels as though it permeates this walk: "Where do you want to go?" As if an instinct drives me forth, I find myself addressing this question, one not asked audibly as such, nor directed at anyone in particular, in the form of a poem. "'Where you wanna go?' Heard as if from all around Yet no words spoken A brother then chose  For on some level he knows Where this journey goes He speaks of a beach Or rocky shoreline or pier Seen firsthand and not He speaks of a haze Over a wonderful date One not forgotten He speaks of family One gifted and (long) toiled for One yet incomplete Did he speak in rhyme? Are words spoken in meter? Let coin flip decide For what's on our mind eep found by open ocean Is sep...