tracing the firmament of a memory

on augusts and octobers #41 4/13/25

what happens when the breath
ebbs and "the stars look like some
damn strange fireflies"(repeat of
past grievances), but instead of
you being me, you are you, and
you are beautifully adversarial
to all that i stand for so you lay
you head on my shoulder and say
"i think that maybe airplanes transpose
to become fireflies".

where do all the spirits go when there
are no bitter souls to pass them
into anger, and instead of ghouls
they are guides? something about
the natures of both spiritual guidance
and inspired grievance makes me
ponder what a finality with you would look like.
then i remember you were never
quite there to share the sentiment with me.

on forget-me-nots and sunlit memory #42 4/13/25

sometimes when i crystalize this memory
into a mirage, i see all the dying flowers and
scuffed gems, they all render themselves
into similarity in the end, amber, citrine,
what's the difference? to you, anything beautiful
is the same, you muddle sunshine and amphibious
nature into one person, convincing yourself
you can love her as much as you loved me.

as a non-poet, you lack the perception of the nuance
and i think it is humourous, acting all pompous in
absence of your understanding of my machinations.
i tell you that the rain of amour will eventually pool into
a resevoir, you just have to wait, and you lay there
dumbfounded. i laugh at the sight.

it feels like day by day you are trying to feel
the mimicry lay in your veins, blending october
into august, but i deny you the pleasure of it.
to be fair, i say that i am stepping into a new era,
but old habits die hard. it is not every day someone
drops a bomb on you like you did, all i did was share
the shockwaves. who can blame me? it was too
much to hold onto by myself. you only brought
this on yourself anyway, so.

stop trying to make me sympathize with a pitiful face.

springterlude v + springterlude vi #43 & 44 4/13/25

maybe all the flowers (crocus, lily, daffodil, buttercup, et. al) will culminate into some sort of beautiful deathbed for winter.

[x]

when all the snow melts, i will be there to rip away the dying grass.

haiku 002 #45 4/13/25

ocean requiem---
you perforate the night sea,
i sew it back up.

it's like a queer high school reality drama except we break up and stay that way because i'm not stupid #46 4/13/25

blah blah blah, he read fiction, i read poetry-- i wrote in neat pencil, he scrawled in shambled pen. like in one of those cheesy high school dramas, i called him every night, kicking my legs on the bed. it was beautiful and sweet until it wasn't. it was nuanced and subtle until my life was overshadowed by his ego. \\\ he still loves me, he says, while i text him that he stinks and send that sick person emoji then the vomiting emoji, and i ask unfiltered if he has ever washed his hair with good shampoo(he hasn't.) i roll my eyes and ignore him, he cannot know how much this irritates me-- how much he is on my mind. but not in the corny way, because i don't love him anymore. i don't think i could bring myself to love him anymore anyway.

the third law of motion #47 4/14/25

i.
there will be happiness in the wake of
dissonance, and the rain will ebb dissimilarly
to the rise and fall of the chest of a februrary.
the forest recognizes faces, burning in
a fashion so all the spectators consequentialize
into engulfing, tidal fire. conversely, the paradox
of subjection describes living as a continuous action,
but there is no clear "end" to this "beginning".

ii.
without abundance, destruction has no direct parallel,
so the vivacious clouds abstain from ever touching ground,
raining thunder onto the dry grasses of march.
storms relinquish the ashes to the rivers, washing
past the ruins of the when and the wherefore. storms
do not care for so much as an organism to that of rock.
thunder cannot differentiate living and non-living,
lightning is indifferent to the sillhouette of an eroding
cliff to that of a newborn child.

iii.
offsetting lethargy, therein lies conviction; ambitionless
moonlight casted onto invigorated sunlight, the cross-section
of a wasted april laying dormant in a springbed.
everything cherished that submerges the day into night
will dissapear one day, as is the transience which fades
the stars into constellations, which names haptic galaxies,
which dissasembles something sentimental into a
rusted memory. there will one day, no longer be an orion
or a polaris that maps out a concivable universe.

what is a god? #48 4/15/25

what constitutes a god as any
kind of god at all when
there is no faith?

why do we believe in God when apathy feels so
immense?

why do we pray?

---where does the prayer go?

what is a lifetime? #49 4/15/25

where does all the mist go when the fog subsides?

what happens when the ice
eventually melts, and all
the oceans receive their
equal share?

when passion solidifies itself
into resolve, what happens
to the leftover time?

where do we go--?

where do we go when we die?

what is a memory? #50 4/15/25

where do we go when it all fades?

what service does remembering
(and by extent forgetting)
bestow upon a carcass?

if we are all going to die
anyway, is there a point
to experience?

why can't i just let the
tide eat me apart?

does this life mean anything?

alpine #51 4/15/25

pine trees like morning dew, i feel the
saccharine unbecoming nature of
jealousy seep into my veins.

i disregard you.

(i) #52 4/15/25

my name is (_), i am (_) years old, my father and mother have (_)
and they are my (_) purpose, i do (_) possess a life outside of them.

springterlude vii #53 4/15/25

the wind(brash), rushes between the branches, uncaring if they fall--- i pick up the dying buds.

winter denoument (winternoument???) #54 4/15/25

if spring is an interlude, is winter a denoument? or is it a prologue?

something about nature #55 4/15/25

maybe i do like it here; the stone
and leaves under my boots feels like
a callback to my roots.

yeah i really don't know what to title this #56 4/15/25

sometimes i wonder if it will all fall to ruin around me.

springterlude viii #57 4/15/25

when the leaves all machinate
i will watch the crocuses bloom.

rememberance #58 4/15/25

i am waiting (dormant)
for the trees to
sprout leaves so i can
press the veins
onto paper--

i will immortalize
this moment
so it will never have to
pass.

namesake #59 4/15/25

one day i will no longer spite the sun.

today is not that day.

let this be written in impermanance #60 4/15/25

i think that "ends" and "beginnings" are
impermanant. they lay dormant and
carve points in time, but i am certain
that there are things that "end" with no
roots, and things that "begin" that will
never end up terminating.

i will not secede to the mundane idea
that things are permanant and inseverable,
because i think that cyclical nature
is all around us.

something about nature ii #61 4/15/25

april is halfway through, meaning that
the promised rain showers will
beget their consequential
buds. as such; morning dew will
sprout from the cumulonimbus(cumulative)
blooming, spreading life(sunlight)
into the already raining flowers.

i yearn to end-- or to begin(the two are
so analagous after all) some kind
of renewed life, shedding the husk
that is a past life-- i will let myself
live and die and live --resurrective
nature.

the ocean reflects the moonlight #62 4/16/25

inconsistent to the moon cycle, i tide myself into
normalcy. some days, i feel that the ocean's wrath will
one day consume me, consume you, consume
whatever lays dormant of us-- i cannot fathom such a fate,
so i disparage the memory beforehand.

i do not like forgetting-- but i loathe returns. i think
once something is gone, it is gone. you cannot make a
crashing wave still itself, so too is it impossible to
such a way that it tears a person apart. [stagnancy]