Tonight is a vintage Heathkit
my brother left me:
capacitors rising like Skittles suns,
mysterious as hieroglyphics
but I will decipher them all
I will make connections tonight
with my tools and wires in my room
on the phone, online, in my mind
I’m reaching out and tying knots
growing roots in the ether
sharing news about black holes
pondering event horizons
and watching falling snow
The drums in my earphones thunder
and my belly’s full of serotonin—
I made dinner for myself; I’m practicing
for the days when doors reopen
and the power’s back on,
music flowing again
from my fingers to the keys of life
with its major and minor events;
gas in our cars, roads connecting dots
I’ll cook a feast for three
in an earthship on a beach
somewhere in the Pleiades.
I’ve already picked mangos
from the tree outside,
told the orchids to grow to obscenity
in the vines spreading from our footsteps.
The sun melts the gold between our foreheads
and solders our fingertips together—
and at night we’ll be the moon,
sparking purple plasma dreams
against our celestial sphere.
Invite friends, come and go as you please.
Bring our differences in like condiments
to the table for Saturday brunch.
The walls are earth, the blankets plush:
you’re always welcome here with us.
Tonight I’m connecting the stars on my own
in a house the color of midnight.
I was experimenting with electricity
and found a rip in the galaxy—
an open circuit, a breach in polarity
where the mysteries of trinities glow
Is it too much just to be happy?
I don’t need to invent the microwave
or write a symphony.
I just want the simple pleasures
I’m waiting, and waiting is a sentient life-form
you can feed snacks.
To experiment is enough.
Wonder is enough.
Dim the lights because the stars are enough.
In cold tree-veins, sap is sleeping—
gathering sugar for the Pisces spring.
Tonight I am waiting and not waiting
in this worn-out mortal Tesla coil,
driving 90 on a highway of possibilities,
each one a different flavor of sunrise;
each one a universe
© Psyche Marks 2020