In Sciens, Nemo Nocere
We, the Guides and Explorers
We, the Healers and View-changers
Our timeless assembly of Professors and Prophets

We, the Witches and Heretics 
We, the Charlatans and Truth-tellers
We stand, foot to shoulder, free of the burdens of our discoveries

From towers of magic and meaning
We guard energy as the traits The Stars chose
the words written The Ancestors willed
the meaning observed that Evolution perfects
All that is held sacred and empirical by our connections of carbon
Our voices and patterns protect

We are the Keepers of galleries of physics and oceans of feelings,
Conjurers of invisible connections and infinite vacuums,
Defenders of ways won with infinite suffering
Meaning is matter and Animism is Atoms
From Self to Soul, we pledge to harm none

We know the Ways of not dying by battle or perspective
Death is a pioneer and we travel by his cairns,
We defined the Cancer cells and Charon, 
Coins in our pockets in coats of white
Our hands are the ones that warm the cold instruments
That excise demons and decay 

We receive voices and infants from nothing and nowhere
Phantom Limb Holders and Bad News Bringers
Throughout time and gravity and space
We care for the ways of remembering

Stories of all living things in romantic taxonomies
Perspectives that change our velocity
Nuances between axons and bonfire tales
For generations to agree upon

That Karma is neither created or destroyed
That Nothing is a solid without the spirit
That water was spirit, and became lizard and ape
And That there is no greater Evil than not washing your hands

Before I was barreling through the tunnel
tighter, faster, more death and friction
fear and fear and fear
flying past the flashing lights and screaming sirens
hyper focused on every shot, evading every riposte
the voices of power droning in my earpiece
“Abandon Ship”
“Stay the Course”
“It’s a Trap”
“Don’t mess this fucking shot up or we’ll all be homeless”

After I was dancing through the gallery
lighter, thoughtful, more time and more inertia
pain and pain and pain
wandering past the weeping faces and suspicious eyes
Caressing every line of the pallid faces with my swelling heart
Crushing against each corner, the edges of the oil paint pull my tissues
ripping, gushing and spilling until you can’t tell the difference
between my eyes under the blood or theirs beneath the paint