Heart Feelings Linger

Science.
For all you’ve given us,
You’re not much of a romantic.
Love, you tell us,
Is only in our heads.
Just a chemical reaction.
Elevated levels of dopamine,
Seratonin, and ocytocin.
Flooding our brains and bodies,
With intoxicating pleasure.
High from the uppers and opioids,
Created by our own brains,
We wouldn’t mind staying,
In this crazy-in-love,
Can’t-get-enough-of-you phase,
Forever and ever.
But, Science tells us,
Such feelings are fleeting.
Your feel-good chemicals,
Will level off,
Because love, you tell us,
Is only a chemical reaction.
Elevated levels of dopamine,
Doping our brains.
Seratonin, soothing our souls,
And intoxicating oxytocin.
Nothing more.
But love is more complicated,
Than chemistry.
What if the chemical levels,
Drop in our brains,
Because they’ve migrated to our hearts?
Settled in the neurons there.
Which is why when we’re apart,
From the one we love,
We feel a physical ache in our hearts.
It’s because heart feelings linger.
And if you don’t feel that pang,
Then those feel-good chemicals,
Never made their way to your heart.
They were, sadly, only in your head

Library Tower

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University Place Library Tower

There’s a foul tang. I felt it on my lips. Tasted it fully. Drove it along my tongue, towards gulf of throat, and then spat. It was summer.
#kshawnedgar

#publicdisplayart

#words

#fixedgear

Magnetism Organism

We live on the surface,
Of the shallow crust,
Of a gigantic magnet.
It has positive and negative poles,
Constantly interacting with one another.
Simultaneously repelling themselves,
And yearning to complete themselves.
Everything depends upon this polarization.
The rotation of the earth,
And its orbit around the sun.
The fusion reaction of the sun,
Generating the light,
Filling up the darkness,
Creating life itself.
Positive spaces,
Filling up the negative spaces,
With light and life.
They say we’re not made,
Of magnetic stuff.
But nature knew what she was doing,
When nature made our nature,
Just as as magnetic,
As the earth itself.

The Lesser of Two Meanings

Levee: the second can resemble the first.


Along the river Futurity,
its lips licked by tongues of fresh snow melt,
sediment builds a ridge like the assembly of men
around a monarch’s morning wakefulness.

Sentinels pile up behind the gnarred current
bleating grains of what’s to come.
Farther down the river
the ridges are already forming.

P.S.
Janus, the guardian we get when two rivals are one in the same, back-to-back, and we linger under the falsehood of choice.


K. Shawn Edgar | 8787453 | 97823#4 | Jar109Tar3

Monsters and Machines

It’s a curious thing.
What makes a man begin to hate everyone,
And everything?
Is it an insurmountable sadness,
That drives him to madness,
That makes him not a man,
But a monster filled with rage?
Or rather a machine,
With no empathy or anything,
That makes one a human being.
Was he really a monster?
Was he really a machine?
Did he really hate those people?
How could he go through it?
Was it God that made him do it?
We can really only speculate.
What filled him with so much hate.
So much hatred.
So much death.
So many people willing,
To be the monsters and machines,
To do the hurting and the killing.

Time: The Killing Pain


The Killing Pain

Leaves,
when stuffed into a plastic bag,
are unable to decompose.

Air is necessary for building up,
and for breaking down.

Between the hiatal glitches in my time stream,
I pause before stepping out of year 1873
and into an undiscovered 1997.

Undiscovered because—from my current perspective—
it will be different than my pervious passthroughs.

Memories,
when layered beneath acid-free timelines,
are more likely to bred rebellious offspring.

Dry Spell

When those creative juices,
Do not flow very well,
And inspiration, it reduces,
And you have nothing to tell.
There are no new rhymes for you to make.
And no new metaphors to bake,
Into a nice poetic cake,
Served at a picnic by a lake.
Alas..
There is no picnic.
There’s no cake.
No trees, no water.
There’s no lake.
And the inside of your head,
Is more dry than a dry lake bed.
You’re stuck inside a barren hell,
When you’re going through a long dry spell.