*metaphysical merengue

by on

all that’s necessary is a couple of crayons
if you’d like for me to color you a whole galaxy
a white milky pen for the pin pricks of stars
in the velvet mass of vanta empty
the space between all people can see
how we limit so much, and believe we know everything.

how arrogant we must be to say there is no creator.
all he needed was a couple of crayons, and a hand full of mud,
some thoughts in his head, and breath in his lungs. –six pm

first draft*

by on

․ ◦◯

mine eyes traced
the lines of his body
each muscle like poetry
sculpted for me to read.

took my finger tips & followed
stubbled braille of his cheeks
mounted his lap & traced
the horizon of his smile
with my own lips.

*six pm

by on

i am
but a
dearling,
a darling
Capricorn;
with his
tenderlings
not
yet
budding.
year
of the
yearling,
year-long
yearning for
space walks.
rendering
the DNA,
raveled
into ringlets
dangled
in frozen
fragility
of pearl
bracelets.
intertwined
like
a necklace;
the love
my parents
shared.
at least
one time.
destined
to be
well traveled;
nestled
in a
blanket of
pine needles
& honey
i reach
out from
earth’s cradle;
longing to
find a
super
nova
more
special
than any
we have
gleaned
before.
one
that will
last past
the
collapse
of our
æther.
chestnut
shell
rocking.
this station
of the universe
is too small now,
we must go,
now
.
∶
⁞
Stephen Hawking
hypothesized
in
one of
his usual
bouts
of miraculous
syllabic
tongue
twisters
that
the universe
has an
end,
just
as all
living
creations
have a
beginning.
blazing
bravery
we are
living
beings.
we will
scoff
in the
face of
clocks &
hypothetical
hypochondriacs
will quiver.
photogenic
phylogenetics
captured
by the
lenses
of dying
Keppler,
zipping like
ice skates
past
Jupiter.
Dance
around
the rings
of Saturn,
& suicide
our weak
in honor
of Cassini
⁞
∶
.
Or stay
day dreaming
here upon
the heavenly
rains that
rapture the
African
savannas.
But i,
i will
try to
forge
paths for
distances
as far
out as
forevers.
May the
future
generations
of humans
make
it farther…
. . .may they
be the
answer
to my
ever
burning
question:
Is

there

intelligent

life

here on Earth?
.
.
.
∗s⁞x pm

by on
Avatar the Last Airbender 2004-2008

⁖

Wish you could love me
As you loved the sunsets
In California.
I never trust in anyone
But for some reason
I trust you.
And if you fly to the other side
Know, one day, I’ll follow you.

I wish you cared enough about me
To watch the sun rise in the East
We’re New Yorkers, it’s in our blood
Staying out and running the streets before the dawn.
I’m always on the run
And you should be too.
There’s a place out there for us to grab
I am waiting for you
To lace up your shoes

But you, you’ll sleep all fucking day.
I don’t care, I can wait
Trust, I have the patience of a saint.
I’ll always love you, somehow
anyway -six pm

Paige Six | April 2018

by on

*
if

you

must go

take the moon

and the stars with you

everything i love is distant

and out of reach–there is nothing out there for me now –six pm

(slightly different from my poem *9.28.19 —

this was totally unintentional,

serendipity is wild!)

Happy Pi. Day!

Happy Birthday Einstein!

And I hope you had a pie. (We had pizza)

*six pm | 2019

by on

  ⁕                                                                    .

                                                                                              *

∗

•                                   

                                                                         .

∗                                                                                   ⁕

⁞

for you i am a tequila sunrise;

for you i am heartbeat panging

through the pages

of schoolgirl crush notebook.

kissing crux of neck bone crest collar,

soft and warm as morning bread.

                                                       .                                 •

*                             .

                                                  ⁕

you are at least 6′ tall.

i blink.

i am sure.                                    ⊹

i say: starlight you are sunshine                         .

and i love you like buttercups.

i write you sonnets and give you heartbeat

gift wrapped in its parchment.                                                   *

             .                                      .                         

*                                   ⋆

                                                               *

you grow 10′ taller.

you are menace and

i am mouse.

i tell you i am falling from your eyelash.

you grow larger. 20′ tall now.

13 miles you crest everest.                                 .

i go to hold your hand but i’m a lonely golden pebble.

you ask the clouds a favor;                             .                        

to blow their wind and push you away.

                                    .                                                  º             *

 *                                                              *

                             ⊹

you are leaving.

i will stay.

i tell you i need you.

i feel nothing.

i am in the stratosphere; floating                        .

i am a helium balloon and you are shrinking.

                               º

*                                                             *

you are dusking sunset through bleary eye slits              .

and it is getting cold here.

star sparkle my vision sun sinking             .

backlit dropping…*

                             *            

                                                   *

you are

… my lover?                                                                                    ⊹

you are                   º

…my height now.                                               •

no.                                           .                                                   .

you are smaller.

you are sprawling pacific ocean.                   *

whole life ahead of you.

*                            .

                                                     º

i am drifting alone.

i still love you.

you are orange melodrama,                    .    ·

you are marmalade paintings on still-life ocean surface.

you are the west and i am gone.              *

                                    · •                .

*

                                 .                                             *

every constellation becomes a new map evolving

and i am only marrow.

you can see right through me.                        ⊹

i am an open book and you are diary entry.

startling the starlings with my stories.

i regale earth’s sucking mud,                        .                 ∗

her jewel weeds, dandelion wish clouds,

and the way you kept together everything.

∗                             .                                    ⊹

                           ⁕

            .                                            •

furloughed like an arrow.

you sentenced me to no-thing.                                      º

bone marrow bow flung me                                                                              .

with the bow crafted of my own heart strings.

sorry. i couldn’t make it to the moon by morning.                                   ⁕

i hope the darkness wasn’t so bad.

i hope you missed me.  –six pm | *furloughed

   ⁕                                                                                 .

                     *

                                                            ∗

                                                                               •

                             .

∗                                                                          

                                                               ⁕

by on
Aladdin 1992

Dear 6,

     I write you to allow myself closure. The truth I’ve never revealed to you is how after years of atheism and searching for answers it was only upon meeting you that I almost believed in God.

     I’d spent my young years with my nose to the grindstone and had very little time for fun and frolic. I have always been restless, a wild-child in my soul diving into fiction to suppress these desires. I’d sacrificed education for hourly wages necessary to keep the roof over my head. I exposed these truths to you in shame to be comforted by the thick tusk of your shoulder.

      The musk of your natural body still intoxicates my senses. The deep sienna of your skin against the champagne color of my wrists trembling as you placed upon its thin wafer layer a first kiss. Where did it all go wrong? Was it how our bodies didn’t quite fit the way our minds melted like wax and our conversation flowed like wine? The awkward communion of the first sacrament of our union…

     This I won’t forget: your deception and how its reveal decapitated the holy body of our bond at the slender curve of its neck.

     There are two instances in my life that are traumatic blessings: the birth of my child at the age of 18 and the loss of you at 28. To the other side of this continent you reside with a whole fraction of my soul. I write you this letter in hopes you might know. But I send nothing to you, our communication will remain cold.

Save you discover this letters, until which no bars will I hold.

Yours,

3.14

*For him whose name meaning is heart, and the associated lucky number is 6.

*six pm | 2021 {notes on poems

by on
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