Intended Purpose

Most poems are not put
To their intended purpose

Virtuous
They may be
And filled with innovation
Novel scansion
Consonance
Galore
Assonance
And more

Sure rhymed and chimed - But never mind
The original intention

It's all defeated by a chance line
An off-hand mention
Of a cat's curl
Or the purr of a friend
Or the dark shadow of loss

And thus
The reader reaps
Finds unplanted meaning
Of their own

This is not selfish

This
Is genuine
And truthful
And beautiful
And Divine

On The Nature of Grilled Bread

Absence of evidence 
Is not evidence of absence

Let me explain - There is a part of the brain
That when stimulated makes one perceive god
Kzzt - God! Kzzt God!

There is a part of the brain
That when stimulated makes one smell burnt toast
Kzzt - Toast! Kzzt Toast!

It's all in the head
Yet this does not make me question
The existence of grilled bread

God is a lie
Atheism is a lie
Equal lies

Let me tell you why
Though god (slash) atheism is true to you
There is nothing you can say or do
To make it true for me
Particularly since
My god is an atheist

Try not to worry about that too much
I know it upsets you
To think that others haven't pierced the veil as you
That others wander aimlessly around
Bumping into coincidences
And misinterpreting them as 
Proof (slash) disproof of god

Surely life has no meaning for the bumblers
And the mumblers at the churches and (slash) or pubs

Don't they know that the universe is ruled by absolutes
And that every dogmatist agrees 
Universal principles - 
Require full certainty
That cats observed are either dead or not
Not both and neither

Of course, there is another point of view
Satisfied by proofs among the truths of math and physics
It's this
Gods and atheists do not exist
At least not separately
Both observe the non-existence of the other

That's why Absolutes and Truth 
Consistently defeat detection
They're probability waves that collapse
Upon their close inspection

But - I've made a home in this untidy universe filled as she is
With glorious approximation
And strange charm

Maybe that's strange of me
To delight in the necessary tremor
Of the search for something else
To be satisfied without proof that
A thousand unseen hands reach out to me
Just as I reach out to touch the face of god
And to sense perhaps that if I ever reached that space
I might feel fingertips upon my own

So forgive me if I doubt all gods and atheists
But don't confuse that doubt for lack of faith
I believe absolutely
In the existence of toast

100 Steps

Wake up and exercise your own personal dawn
Doesn't really matter what the time is
If it's the first time you yawn - It's morning

Take a hundred steps before you raise your head

Know the world isn't real until you open your eyes
So look around the inside of your lids
That small and redly-tinted universe

Take a hundred steps before you leave the bed

Keep your hands at your sides like ghosts
Touch your hair at the roots - From the roots
Feel the texture of a breath

Take a hundred breaths before you end this death

Don’t make the decision to be born - Yet
Drink in the possibility of waiting
Or (if you could) donating consciousness to someone else

Take a hundred seconds for your second thoughts

Ignore the fact that god is just a dream
And start a dialogue anyway
It's a good way to start the day

Take a hundred steps with the god inside your head
Take a hundred steps with the god inside your head

Once your feet have touched the floor
After your feet have touched the floor
Then you can debate
Whether to take
A hundred more