life with interest

Through the infinite indigo
floating amongst stardust,
our carbon cruising constellations
into the black of forever
and again back into the light,
lost in this lautitious lagoon
together, billions of miles apart.
I’ll miss you when we’re gone
The warmth of your everything
isn’t allowed for long enough
Can’t we just pause time and
forget tomorrows are finite
Can’t we just hold each other
so tightly that our limbs, muscles and meat
form into an impenetrable molecule–
that no fault of space
no fracture of time
can break us apart?
I miss you already a thousand times over
and I miss all I’ve ever known
the first moment I saw you
the first moment I held you
I miss these moments
and I’ll miss them more
as I undulate unwittingly onward
towards the end of my timeline,
escaping to the elements of flesh,
alone, off into that eternal sea.

Lost inside the insanity of white noise,
Lost in the 4am magic of hidden moonlight
sonatas and staged sunrise soon to spark a Monday
spark a Monday into action as life goes about living

I
ask
it
kindly
to

// pause //

as I am
engulfed by pitch
black barely lit
by monitor glow, and
wrestle a body far past the point of no return,
into a sleepless night——————————night sleepless,
a body sweat shivering at the mercy of morning,
a morning rapidly revising its radio silence
into a rousing refrain::

Monday, hello Monday

Won’t you stay still in the darkness
for me friend? Won’t you? Won’t you
let your triumphant tune tastefully trickle in slow,
like snails crossing starlit sidewalks in solitude?

I beg of you, keep your bristling sunlight at bay
for just a while longer
Freeze your lunar light
still in the sky,
for another thousand hours,
splitting minutes into a million melodies—

Monday shows no mercy

scores of scores unwritten, unsung,
surrender solemnly to the rising sun.

We are oil and vinegar, “you,” and I, 
you — the many, the people floating around my acidic psyche, 
the world filled with those who, like oil, slip easily through life, not overthinking every little reaction with an overreaction, 
and I sometimes come close, but never close enough, 
as audacious awkwardness, accidental overshares, my
prolifically pouring purple against yellow, are at best a joke,
as I yearn to connect but remain repelled apart — 
But maybe life itself is meant to be isolating, 
meant to be filled with silent thoughts and musings, 
shared in our solitude as we pass each other by.
We might as well be stars alone a million miles apart from each other
in galaxies that go on forever and forever.
Even together we are eternally elusive and empty spirits floating across the universe for a blip of time, 
seeking connection, yet also seeking that solitude, 
seeking silence, screaming silently;
Waiting for your train to pull into the crowded station, yet it never comes. 
You sit, patiently, then, restlessly, and watch everyone get on and off 
their on-time arrivals and departures, 
as the sun rises high in the sky and buries itself 
in blood-red sunsets and those hidden behind smoke and fog and missed
because you shut your eyes for an instant and there goes another day —
another month — another year — and years upon years — 
you watch the world with open eyes and wonder 
will you ever decompose enough for your molecules to 
merge with the masses, 
when will the stories swimming in circles around your mind
that stain your satisfaction with absolutely anything 
suddenly, 
yet softly, 
turn on mute, 
and perhaps you still are vinegar against humanity made of oil, 
but you no longer long to feel anything —
to connect to anyone with improbable intensity — 
since we enter this world alone and leave it alone 
and live in a falsehood of connectivity, 
at what age, if ever, does solitude seem satisfactory?