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My mind is not
Prepared to speak
It is too hot
I am too weak
But somehow I
Must still expound
The reason why
I flit around
And do not stay
Where I might be
Cooler all day
In the A/C
I must return
To her. I burn.

Flight

Were there a thousand places
I could depart to, I
Might find myself in stasis
Until I thought of why:
Why do I ever travel
What is the point of going?
Will some new plan unravel?
Are there new seeds I'm sowing?
In this case I am certain
I know just where to go;
Shall I part the curtain
And tell you what I know?
This blessing I'll discover:
I go to see my lover.

Burning Chrome

Why is the day so hot? Why is the night
A burning blister of eternal pain?
The ancient adage that heat comes from light
Is mocked, and nature cuts against the grain
To make the body hate what nutures it:
The sun and all the moisture in the air,
Which bleed into the skin. The sky, unlit,
Continues pumping warmth from everywhere
And all is desolate save for the mug
Which clams along the surface of all things
Oozing like the wetly plodding slug
Whose liquid, when it coats the eagle's wings,
Forbids his flight. Yet in all this I find
Your absence drives the weather from my mind.

Past the Infinite

There is a certain satisfaction
In how the mind comes to conclude
Upon a certain course of action
Or on an explanation. Rude
Intemperate and uncouth men
Will leap to unconsidered ends
But those who think before they pen
Can feel the pleasure logic sends
Into the soul when it's employed
And come to understand the way
The mind can be selfoverjoyed
By herding thoughts that went astray.
Yet thinking thus may make us proud
And so I do not think aloud.