P.E.A.C.E.

I’d like to move far, far away
to a distant projected reality within universal consciousness
free from the tyranny of style.

I’d like to find some new electrons with whom to collide.
Know what?
Fuck electrons; they’re too negative.

Protons and electrons always cause explosions.

You can see how this is frustrating.

EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE THAT CONSCIOUSNESS CONTINUES TO EXIST AFTER THE TRANSITION KNOWN AS "DEATH"

I’ve seen heaven in a downed power line
close to the earth and tangled in the trees,
undulating in the wind like black Chrysopelea;
the last fiery remnants of a rogue kite that refuses to leave quietly.

Butterflies flitter about her live wire hair
like ghost children poking each other in the sins,
saturating dish towels with the energy raining from her fingertips,
huffing her aura and getting high.

And there I was, all of seven, maybe,
my syrupy fingerprints smudged across the glass,
a greasy cheek pressed between the floral print humeral veils
frocked over the pane, separating the sanctuary from the sinners.

To see that serpent hissing sparks, the crabgrass ignited
with ticklish orange arms outstretched, grasping for nimbus,
bridging the current between nature and science, it left the boy
praying for lightning, to whom, he is no longer sure.