math of the moon

and the math
of the moon
made the
mood of
the room
seem like
swooning
is swimming
in the reality of
dreams and the
beams of the found-
ation of this house, of
this building we build -

the numbers explain the
world to me, the harshness
of it. but there's something else
added to the mix, that bit of human-
ness, so much less when you get
up close. too close. to close this
door, this window, this room in
my mind and be blind, feeling
my way to the sound at the
end of the tunnel.

a bundle of thoughts and
feelings in the space mail
delivered only every once in
a while physically, and like a
good ally, the lies sound sweet
and believable. the digits are some-
thing that still don't add up. the lyrics,
none of them, make any sense, none
of them make any cents as i dream of
writing and write of dreaming and w/
out seeming too clueless i try to
reach out and communicate
with the closest planet at
the moment and it just
happens to be earth,
the scene of so many,
well, a few, past moments.

my body disintegrates.
my cells become over-
run with free radicals
and the war is over.
my mind is ancient
and young and some-
times it sees my body
and my mind will never
match up. what's there to
do? what's there to say? a-
nother play on words, another
long winded poem saying nothing,
saying too much.

i imagine myself as the man with
no hands and no legs and no
voice and no hearing and
no sight - just a will to
fight in the mind and
the occasional feeling
of some other human
touching my flesh, what's
left of it. why do they keep me
alive in this state? i would won-
der and their here and there at-
titude would obviously include
a plan to escape. maybe in the
end someone would have the
idea to hook my brain to an etch-
a-sketch and the only way i can
reach out and communicate is
via that and people writing letters
on my chest. the rest is just a dream.

with no gravity in space, poeming from
place to place, when you do get called
back to earth you really feel the pressure
of the planet spinning, trapping you to the
side of the globe - walking about - mountain
tops - seasons and time and feelings and my
mind. unwinding with words i willingly wait for...
four weights ...

do you ever wonder what it was like to be a leper?
hiding behind rags and bits of clothes and the people
leering and pointing and running and ... just walking,
huddling alone on the cobblestone, feeling the feelings,
a sense of deja vu, as if your soul, throughout the time-
line takes a beating.

there comes a time,
there appears a place,
sometimes in your mind,
whether when you're cons-
scious or whether you're dre-
aming - that just makes sense.

hello. come in. can you hear me?

does he live like this? is there a
way we can extract the poems
and the thoughts w/out having
to wade through the mess he
makes of his life? so the poet
is banished to the nearest moon,
pock marked satellite spinning
round and round, further and
further away with every trip
around the planet earth
where normal humans
live and it's all relative
at least that's what
einstein said and
they say he was
crazy haired &
had someone
to take care of
him day to day
while he thought
about time travel and
trains and how you perceive
them as they pass - slowly then
with such force! such force that
it's as if you're seeing the world
for the very first time and it's con-
fusing and frightening, but also
so very exhilerating - a fresh
start and then the day begins
again and you look out the fake
bedroom window in the fake bed-
room and the stars glow and the
planet earth spins so slow like
the train that's far away.