Aladdin 1992

i
am a
sentimental
physicist.
observing
the gravity
of emotion.
noting the
subtle lensing
of light,
as it
filters
passed you
and
distorts my
star weary
eyes.
i must
crunch the
equations &
check them
twice
before
i don
aluminum,
endure
your
endless
cold,
& shoot
for your
moon.•
○.

⁂⁖
.
the
mass
effect
of you
consumes.
hypothesis:
your
spirit’s
path is
visible
light,
racing
towards
a cosmic
wall; to
decorate
galactic sky
as microwave
impressionism.
•°.


.
to
make
sense of
your dark,
i spend
my nights
measuring
boundless
black
matter that
surrounds us.
enraptured
by the
scented skyline
prophesying:
jet propulsion,
serenaded, and
lemonade rainfall;
Armageddon
upon another
acid planet.
your pain
upon the
reaches
still unpinned
by travelled
telescopes;
dying
technologies
making me
jealous of
all the
places where
the universe
sees the
parts
of you
i am
physically
incapable
of being. °
•.

⁖⁕
.
as love
moves
in ellipticals
it eclipses
my heart,
eventually.
always,
the awe
never ceases
to inspire me.
invokes my
muse.
devote my
life to
translating
the beauty of
its euphoria
into the
English
vernacular.
ceaselessly.
to release
the burden of
it’s memory
like the sun
burned into
my retinas.
i compose &
compute each
intangible
equation.
nuance
comprises
itself onto
endless notations.
converting numbers,
filtered through
my limbic system,
into colloquial
prose.
closest words
to illustration,
as my
cerebellum
can
surmise. •
. •°.

.
code the
sentences
unto
my poems;
my theories
of everything.
presenting
my poetry
to everyone
as my
thesis.
phantoms
obsessing
my mind
my only
tangible
evidence.
am i
still the
only
person
who can
see
how
perfect
we
are?
the
only
person
who
sees
our
future
written
in the
stars?

-six pm |* sentimental physics

*

*

*

longing captured in a snow globe. frozen as the contents stiffen, but of salt & sadness, dissipating & cooling winter water: trine, threefold, vexing, upsetting at uncracked glass. ice forms and is expanding, extending to rupture; to break free of its crystalline prison cell.

//

an orb; a distorted window; a fish bowl: if only momentary perfection; encapsulated within its prism; tiny planet; polished patiently; unholy prison. stranded atop a marble mantle in the castle of my memory. the room within my palace where I recall every essence of you, your earthy scent of virility, of indica smoke, & each number you represent to me. three. three. three. .333… repeating. irrationally.

//

although life moves me forward, it will be you, my effervescent darling, who anchors me to the present. i no longer fear onsets of dementia. when the insects of age attack to decay my brain; when God and Devil battle to beguile every soul aching to be enraptured; I just want you to know:

//

i still love you. you were my end and my beginning.

//

and yes, maybe i am a hopeless romantic, twisted as my bed sheets. maybe all i have left to show in this cold life are our warm embraces, our hot encounters, the pointed reasons we failed each other, our muted mysteries (there are so many). but maybe, *omitted, these memories are all i’ll ever need.

six pm | *memory games