What if:
What if all philosophy, 
What if all of life,
Were quite simple?
How nice.
We could discard global warming and modal logic.
Modal logicians on welfare.
Climate change too. 
What if love and anti-love were axioms,
In search of the perfect theorem,
For a solution that only you and I (with you) could solve,
Through answers that modal logicians cannot debate?
But who would turn on our lights?
Who would fry our eggs?
Or wash our clothes and whisper good night?
Or lend a neutral arm?
Did I lead you astray?
Or was that always your way?
I dreamt your arm,
You pulled it away. 

A gentle glimpse, a covert glance; and then once more,
Take a chance. (I mean, please, take a chance),
Into a gentle lift, into a slow recline, 
Into a graceful dance (I mean a drowsy, touching, melting dance).
But why “into”? As if the two were two?
Lifted by rays of blues and greens,
Lifted by memory’s passionate swings.
A graceful dance, a light romance,
As her flute plays softer sounds,
Dancers scarcely touching ground.
Lips meet lips; lovers too;
Let’s meet once more and start anew.

• Leering Zeus, in withering rage, 
  Fled late for safety from his stage. 
  A luminous stage built on iron,
  Now commandeered by a scheming scion.
  
  Relentlessly closing in,
  Indifferent to the sin.
  
  The scion’s greed and darkened eyes,
  A balanced feast for growing lies,
  Circle Zeus in deadly noose,
  Zeus flails, he falls, he thrashes out,
  Death’s clarity erases his final doubt. 
  
  In an instant Zeus is wounded,
  His greed and lust burst forth,
  A spread for the dissolving floor,
  Leaving an empty hole,
  The size of a soulless soul.
  The scion strolls slowly by,
  A twinkle in his eye,
  He spreads his withering wrath,
  His bloody oil for a bloody bath.
  
  Relentlessly closing in,
  Indifferent to the sin.
  
  In frighted flight, the immortal soul, 
  Less substance than a thought,
  Flees the carcass, flees the stage,
  Trembling purple rage on rage.
  
  Wings of angels singed and scorched,
  The causal outcome of a flaming torch.
  Quiet angels now at rest,
  Filled with dreams of what they do best.
  
  Resting birds rest on beds,
  Laced with poison of the dead.
  
  The stage now darkens, 
  Save fluorescent light,
  From flames of passion, flaked with flakes of fright. 
  
  The stage now quiets in pathetic groans,
  As fear meets fate to die alone.
  
  Lesser gods now awaken,
  Stunned from stupor, overtaken,
  By the rot of empty carcass,
  Wasting waste of an empty hole.
  A carcass emptied of its wasted soul. 
  
  Once gloating gods, now stripped of gold, 
  Drop onyx icons and behold,
  Soft perfumed clouds adrift in dew,
  Carrying the scion and his minions too.
  
  Virtue has fled the living.
  Virtue has fled the dead. 
  
  Relentlessly closing in,
  Indifferent to the sin.
  
  Lesser gods, proud not learned, 
  Stumble mortally to greet mortal man.
  Lesser gods, vanity shaken, 
  Wish too late for a wish not taken. 
  
  Lesser gods learn the lesson,
  Children and mortals fear to know:
  Eternal love finds love’s limit,
  In fallen kingdoms of fallen kings. 
  Eternal love finds love’s limit
  In the falling of a fallen star.
  Eternal love finds love’s limit
  At the core of who we are.
  
  Former gods who once knew matter,
  As apparel of souless souls,
  Once defrocked and cloaked in matter, 
  Are blown, dispatched, and ruthlessly scattered.
  
  Reified mortals, pale and shaken,
  Stripped of pride now awaken,
  In a low land rough and craggy,
  Breeding envy, breeding famine.
  Molton rocks, hot and heavy,
  Rocks of lava, hardened beds,
  The resting place of the freshly dead.
  
  Relentlessly closing in,
  Indifferent to the sin.
  
  In a celestial palace,
  That floats in celestial blood,
  The hungry stride on marble,
  Marble polished and red.
  Home to celestial serpents that feast on blood of the dead.
  
  In a celestial palace,
  There sits a celestial stage,
  Studded with wondrous rubies, 
  Wasted relics of a wasted age.
  
  Relentlessly closing in,
  Indifferent to the sin. 
  
  In the castle moat,
  In that lake of blood,
  A newly-nourished serpent twists and bathes alone.
  But serpents too, like feckless gods, 
  Must bow to stronger love.
  
  Cupid has waited among us,
  Silent in silent shade,
  Cupid now emerges, walking next to the sun.
  His arrow targets the serpent, 
  His arrow deadly as death.
  He holds the serpent in his eye,
  Death precedes the serpent’s cry.
  
  Cupid summons a stranger,
  Dressed in the color of love.
  The stranger is made of angels, 
  And each angel is made of a dove.
  
  The stranger releases the angels,
  Each angel releases its dove.
  Soon the choir arises,
  Chanting lyrical songs.
  Soon the cantor starts chanting,
  And righteousness silences wrongs.
  Soon grey skies are clouded,
  With clouds colored in doves,
  As feathers float gently above us,
  As hate succumbs to love.
  
  Let us learn where we can,
  A gentle weapon in a gentle hand,
  Is as deadly as a ruthless man.
  
  Let love stir us to our feet,
  Let us sing in unified beat.
  Let us unite in our song,
  As we sing in the breaking dawn.
  And should dawn’s light start to dim,
  Then we shall sing of hymns on hymns.
  
  
  

Hyperion hovered over Esther’s bruised needs,
As Brutus sank on weakened knees.
As tender nature reclined passively by,
As overwrought Hercules roared through the sky.
Let’s rise above indolence; rise over the rest.
Let mercy’s rain wash through quivering nests.
Let righteous anger sweep through darkened caves.
Let icy steel hands of justice pave way,
To the glorious wand of an awakening day.

Why am I not surprised,
That birds will not take the time,
To consider the difference between,
What birds call love and love. 
The differences are immense,
Music and color agree. 
But you set forth, in one great leap,
Abandoning love in a stone cold heap.

The merger was priced too high.

Synergies unrealized.

Social issues bred divisions.

Leveraged dividends were declared.

Someone was left, holding the bag.

While two souls merged.

With sparsely conducted diligence.

A note shared, here and there:

Books opened, forecasts of aspiration clung together upon revelation.

Physics tells us: energy cannot be created.

Kinetic, potential, elastic, thermal.

Radiant love tells otherwise.

Let energies simmer to love’s stirring rhythms.

As merged souls sing passionately glorious hymns.

I have crossed the bridge,

Leaving yesterday behind,

A barren start to an unformed day.

The moon’s soft song

Is making me drowsy.

And your poem will be my pillow for the night.