will you know me after I’m gone?

will you know me after I’m gone?

collect me in shards
left behind
a yellowing picture
a snippet of hair
a ghostly voice on a recording
a favourite fragrance gone rancid
words on a page fading quickly

will you know me after I’m gone?
will they?
for how long?

the only immortality a human can possess 
is to live on through history
to be remembered and retold
to live anew in each retelling
even if in just a footnote

will I be remembered?
have I or will I do something to deserve remembrance?

this question haunts me
I sometimes forget I am not gone
funny time travelling brain
always half step into the future
tangoing with mortality
rose in mouth 
thorns bring blood

girl with the red hair

the sun is finally out
girl with red hair
on the bus
is a sun catcher
for my near sighted eyes

seated in the cooperative section
she has a blue stripe
living in her tendrils
peeking in and out
just above her ear

the sun bleached bugs 
caught between
two sealed panes of glass
curled up 
with the ones who
went before them

tiny pairs of wings
in the gradients
brighter light
champagne for the brain

salt crystals
above the dormant 

dried up
slush puddles
beneath the seats

notice less 
the close proximity
of conversing
focus more
on all the things 
the eyes can see
now my side of the earth
is facing the sun
warming up

as if I had the ability
to proclaim
a part of a planet
as my domain

telepathy (a poem of wondering)

what if we actually could read each other’s minds?
machines are already doing it;
albeit primatively interpreting brain signals.

say we were telepathic:
what would we see?

would we feel the other person’s emotions associated with the images in their heads?
could we turn it on and off like a faucet?
or would we filter other people’s minds like a drip coffee brewer?

how soon would we lose the written word?
especially if we could record our thoughts directly to a piece of hardware that could be played back like a historical a-track?

would we fetish a wavelength the way we’ve done with the written word?
would a certain frequency be magical?
would we hold it sacred?

would we amalgamate our cultures?
how diverse would we stay?

would telepathy availability as with most innovations be a matter of privilege?
reserved for a select few?

would we have consensus?
would we survive the revelation of our implicit biases?

maybe that’s the real end of days.
maybe the terror of our total mental nakedness is the actual apocalypse.
maybe our need to separate self from the inevitable collective is the devil in the details.
maybe the loss of I, is what’s always gone bump in the night.

if we did survive, I’m sure we’d find ways to hide.
from each other
& the thought police.

then again maybe we’d just become the Borg.
after all;
resistance is futile.

you love me

for my dearest Deej. I love you & I believe in you. Forever.

you love the proud and strong me
you love me when I’m happy
you love my crooked smile
you love my happy clap
you love me when I’m excited
you love me when I can’t stop singing
you love me when I’m on top of the world

you believe in me

what I had forgotten though
what I couldn’t feel through the pain
what I couldn’t see
is this

you love the broken me
you love me when I’m crying
you love my snot and tears
you love me when I’m giving up
you love me when I feel like dying
you love me when I hate myself
you love me when I have nothing left

you believe in me

Yes, I remember now

you love me unconditionally
you believe in me