Do you think?

The rabbit holes wandered,

the fallen trail,
the fell tree in the path,
the oaky and alpine scent.

Thoughts that paint your poetic perception.

Evoke,
embed,
sort out the void.

Spread the gold across the seemingly impossible expanse.

What is it? What is it?

The testable, 

the abstract,
the channel to flip nature 

against herself,

against authoritarian intellect,
that subtle switch, 

giving herself away in rations.

A distinction between reality,

and imagination,
reality at large, 

reeling in the big one,
the crucial one, 

the experiential one:
Where will the photon strike?

Will the light bend?

Wanted symmetry: 

what am I to see? 

What is the world to actually be?

Constructions, conjectures, 

blessings sent to ignorant testers,
probing at the edge of reasons' superstructure.

Curated primaries.

Lifeless algorithms.

Selfless liveliness.

Forgetting a path of local falsity.

Explanationists

Everyone contributes to their own mind,
inside is their very own conception of the universe,
packed intricately into a cubic foot of folds.

 
These places can be visited,

we can build onto each other’s minds,

to explore each other’s worlds.

Multi-generational, massively complex buildings breathe inside us.

A furnace that radiates love:
an idea in mind we remake infinitely better.

Tweaking things slightly,
adding on new additions,
setting up scaffolding,
bringing in neighbors to help,
assembling new theories to improve ourselves,
and thus the world.

We are the girls and boys playing at the end of the cranial culdesac.
We are lifeforms who form discoveries,
making our explanations evermore interwoven with each other.

These are our homes, our palaces,
our forges, our laboratories,
and our forests.

This is our land to explore,
this is our property to build our future possibilities on top of.

The Kick

For Richard Feynman

We're all wondering,
on a ball spinning,
we find patterns,
on an orb we lie scattered.

This exploration within lines traced,
and then dug into wood, with a hard-edged tool,
printing portraits of an ocean of molecules,

Elegance:
a nude figure brings a teardrop to Zorthian’s eyes,
and Feynman laughs at the newly unearthed theory.

We are optimist,
for the joy of it:
“the kick of the discovery.”

These psychedelic fuzzy ideas,
swim in hot pools of our understanding,
hinting at quantum worlds,
seeing the unseen,

hitting atoms,
seeking the shapes to these structures,
explicit to us egalitarians,
to us: people — explainers.

Daring to explore
a world of secrets,
forever at the edge of knowledge.

A Hot Knife Through our Nation's Retina

Past the optic nerve and into the brain
rests the tired mind of these United States of America.

The world will see us,
in the weight of history,
in the survival of our enlightened ideas:

Non-violence. Intolerance only to intolerance.
Peace. Progress. Trial and error-correction.
The individual over the group. Reason.

A blindfolded teenager sits in the middle of protest and counter-protest.

Choosing only to experience loving-kindness.

A spark, a riot,
a choice, an action.

Our rights,
our objective knowledge,
our convictions and understanding
are built on sand—
a towering bundle of birdlike nests.

To transform that sand into glass,
melting down every bit
that doesn't reach our ever-rising bar.

The sidelines, the couch, the armchair opinion,
the silent majority, the optimists
going to work
to be a part of the ever-expanding puzzle:

to build generations of critical,
creative,
rational,
compassionate
human beings.

The Lost Boys

Lost boys

an evolution

a focusing

on people

on individuals

     flying

in fog,
– distortion –
It ain't in voice,
it's only in your mind,
clustered and conscious,
where it isn't just a mear fucking numbers game.

Fallacies:
you are not free,
you are pseudo symmetries,
fragments and forgeries,
aftermaths,

only adjoining the paths,
to changes that’d charge you,
that would propel you,
that would propel the world
to a state of True vitality
that could reach biological escape velocity,
to the beginning of death being a dimestore curiosity.

Respond, react in all your instances,
to choose your life,
your choices,
to the creation of the container and contents,

shape the bowl,
throw yourself at the project,
dig your hands in the muddy grooves
as they sink into the features that are your moments,
make a choice to reattach the forgotten parts of your life,
score and slip the friends and lovers lost
into a new cast,
into the kiln,

break every flawed fabrication,
know that the resources are infinite,
although the components have cost,

they are still limitless:

in practice - dwindling,
in principle - ever dawning,
ever flowing into another entity
somewhere within the multiverse.

Take the responsibility to respond,
take every joule,
every bit of your lifeforce,
and act in accordance with the principle that they matter,

they are life.

Where every evasion deprives recreation.

Think of a world without scarcity,
that is our world.
Think of the lightyears of untapped energy,
the cities among the stars yet built,
the beings of godly health,
of universal reach,
of a renaissance anew.

We are the terrestrial lost boys
and will always be.
At the brink,
at the edge of understanding,
persistent on truly becoming
a Focused People.