There are times,
there are times
when I feel the weight
of these absent memories,
your childhood as viewed
from a distant window.

Raindrops meet roadway,
undestroyed, fling themselves
onto countless new paths.

We build our gods to sin against
by design, each thought
a lifetime to be weighed
and found wanting.

But in the bloody teeth
of these self-constructed saviors
we find no absolution.

Today the fruit
of cause-and-effect,
so to cry "wherefore" is pointless.
Reality
does not negotiate.
But if this present journey
be only a grand meandering,
is that such a bad thing?

Observations in a minor key

We are too much alone
yet not enough.
My heart
must still transcend technique.
Only then
will this tongue
correspond to your skin.

Bare feet bathed
in night-cool grass
tell me
that I'm still alive.

Were there no pain,
would the world be any lesser for it?
That which is in perfect order
does not breathe.
What drives this pumping of blood
but sheer thirst for being?

Can this love
curve time back upon itself
and lead me on
to where I have always been?

No words will wrap this truth:
that there is wisdom woven
in the warp and weft
of things.

What means this necessity?
Untrod paths of choices not made
lead to selves that have never been.
Only the used and useful
dwell in memory.

Perspective

Though these blossoms
are beautiful,
even the algae
that carpet this pond
only want to live.

A free-thought poem, with minor editing

Cop a feel to these emotions man else
you run the robot risk of unfettered unfeeling
lonely logic: can computation
lick a clit
or roll an orgasm
on its tongue?
No such existence gasped breath
like the coming of a mate
in shadowed sweated sheets.

Freedom from the past
like the falling away of fetters,
slave no more
to the accusing musings
of my mind.  Every light
opens, breaking sky
with each inward breath.
Life tangs the tongue
as this day beckons boundless.

Do not despise
this imperfect
love: it
is all we
have.