Twisted

If there is a parallel universe
What the *eff* is the other me
Doing on the other side
Of eternity.
Dying?
Enjoying life without flying
and strife.
And confusion
Wow
Wonder what the other me
Is doing right now?
Is the beatch reading my poetry
And turning it into flowery songs
of earth, hearth and sea?
Or talking real fast about
what is phenomenally me.
Is she reading earth songs
About flowers, birds, and trees
Or talking about sick stuff
Like the rise and fall of the sea.
If she is, she doesn't know me.
Is she over there
Having nothing but joy
No pain?
All of the sunshine
And none of the rain?
I want to crawl
Through the ball
of the wind tunnel of time
And claim what is mine
Or what was mine.
Just to see what I'm doing
On the other side.
The cosmic strands
The ribbon bands
The superNova
Figure out how to get ova.
My DNA
Is Twisted as is
As it could be
In the strands of my mind and eyes
A genetic code with no truth
Except the passage of time.