All my poems about you turn into song

lyrics that ramble and treble with rhythm

and annotated geometric striking symbols

colliding binary clashes in the mind like cymbals

pointing at the spiraling crystalized patterns emerging

(these words twist around each other) meaning

 

I don't have a good metaphor

 

I lost all my connections, pictures, and pleasures

And around 5,000 words I had written about you

And your silk kimono skin and how you broke my bed

All the while saying "if space and time are connected

through expansion, then we should do this again

at the compression" I will only ever not know you

again in the world of Benjamin Button, but here

the void swallows all expressions and impressions

and everything else on that damn phone that is now

redacted electronic impulses, broken 

psychoanalysis for the neurosis

drugs for the meandering existence

and spiral dynamics to explain this conscious

experience   

     

All things will be taken by the void

     

Space and time seem to be expanding and our

Theories predict a crunching, imagine everything

In existence reversing after an eternity

 

My mind is absent while I'm looking at her