He sits upright
Determined to let fingers speak
And dream in lines
Decoupled from the rational function
Like water from a bore
Bored deep into his chest
Beneath his breastplate
Of bone armour
Held tight by airbags
He sags a little
More comfortable this way
Than straight spine delinquency
Curving over the surface beneath him
Like water molds to the shape of its vessel
His brain sputters to life
Hush child, be silent
While another speaks
Lifts the lid
And peeks beneath the surface
Of the big everything
Making sense of nothing
And laughing that a part of him
Finds that necessary
Let go
Let go
Let go
It matters not what you can comprehend
When you understand
The difference between the
Knowledgeable and wise
Such a surprise
To find water holds memory
And we are seventy percent water

A Life Aquatic

It’s the morning after the last heart session
Eyes open but brain still crackling with static and white noise
When I try it again
Hoping to get pen to paper
Before consciousness can recover sufficiently to intervene
And proffer pretty syntax to the poem
Hold the mind blank
And stack the words in rows of green growth
Like garden beds
That only need time and attention to bear fruit
Let truth come from some other place
Than reason or left brain
Or the extensive vocabulary
Meticulously indexed in the cranial cavity
Somewhere near the brain stem
Or maybe in the DNA
As C, T, G, and A
Storing data like binary only twice as complex
The recall mechanism operating in the darkness of our comprehension
Apprehension of its failure threatening to leave the poem unfinished
Unillustrated
Uncalibrated
Un-fact checked
Like that matters somehow
Like the facts are important in art
Like the right brain has no sense of propriety
Just as surely as the heart tells lies in gibberish
A chattering maelstrom of syllables in a cyclonic vacuum
And yet somehow the heart speaks with perfect clarity
Uncluttered rhythm
Timing and flow
So you know there is more going on here than we fully understand
Lend a hand to help decipher the intentions of a part of yourself wayward from the rest of you
Leading to a collapse of the ego
And a blurring of the lines between you and I
Turning discrete data into continuous
On the fly
On the run
Under sun and and moon and sky
Until the day that even death fails to be discrete
Or even an event any more important than a fire
Converting energy from one form to another



Artwork by Cassie Meder, buy here: http://www.etsy.com/listing/109838838/sale-limited-edition-philosophy-of-heart

Heartbeats & Mathematics

Cut em all down

Who needs em

These weeping trees

Are no good for the economy still standing

Breathing carbon and the toxins

Spewing forth from the pulp mill that eats their bones

To a standstill

And spits em out in bleached white sheets

For bills to be printed on

Pack em up

And stack em up on shop shelves

Where customers in gas masks can neglect em

As post offices close all over the country

Because who writes letters anymore?

And who needs the regnans, Sequoioideae, or Kauri?

The Tōtara, he mauri

When instead we can grow

Everything in plantations

Of Pinus radiata

Because it grows faster

To feed this endless need for profits

That will be useless to those that possess them

When their cans of stale air run out

And they suffocate on the decks of their luxury launches

Luka Love