I'd rather your welcome
than anyone's. When you say
it's nothing - it's everything.
When you say don't mention it
- okay, shtum!
When you say "My pleasure,"
you know something?
Not yours alone.
Though if I were,
that sounds like fun!
Just shake and stir
When you say "Anytime,"
I will take you up,
and I'll thank you to not
look too surprised. And if
I'm too late,
I apologize.
I'll be one sorry dude.
And you'll be like, "PLEASE."
Now that's just rude.
"Formalities."
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
even up
Can I call in a favor? Not sexual.
In fact, is there anything else you'd admit
to owe?
I want to consider my options first,
in light of the things you'll think of worse.
In fact, is there anything else you'd admit
to owe?
I want to consider my options first,
in light of the things you'll think of worse.
"Never Live This One (Down)"
Thank you for being,
my consulting editor
- questions of content and questionable
form. I hope,
one day,
you'll be so much more.
The Nobel Prize,
perhaps,
or a Billionaire Entrepreneur
- and then I'd be SET.
And as for the rest, we're
cool I bet. Though meanwhile
of course
- I like you fine, but for money
I'd be your kept man
'til the end of time.
my consulting editor
- questions of content and questionable
form. I hope,
one day,
you'll be so much more.
The Nobel Prize,
perhaps,
or a Billionaire Entrepreneur
- and then I'd be SET.
And as for the rest, we're
cool I bet. Though meanwhile
of course
- I like you fine, but for money
I'd be your kept man
'til the end of time.
dreamlucky
Unlucky at life, lucky in dreams.
I won you
last night, and with everything
I can't wait
to wake up, and rake in
the air.
Don't know how to count it,
but it's all there.
I won you
last night, and with everything
I can't wait
to wake up, and rake in
the air.
Don't know how to count it,
but it's all there.
enigma
I've got an unbreakable moral code.
I'm not a cryptologist, you know.
I can't redecipher a gosh dang thing.
Let's simplify, Wrong? One
knock. But Right? DING DING
I'm not a cryptologist, you know.
I can't redecipher a gosh dang thing.
Let's simplify, Wrong? One
knock. But Right? DING DING
time butterflies
time's passage
has been all expenses paid,
one way, express
today.
This morning I was
all fuzzy bud caterpillars,
who I washed down with coffee
into cocoons
Which molted about
before you showed up,
for the butterflies.
By long about noon,
they were flying so high,
with me outside, it was
fluttering nuts, and with you
along for the ride, both of us
very glad that my stomach
was strong, and time flew
like butter,
daylong
until at some point,
I realized I was calm.
has been all expenses paid,
one way, express
today.
This morning I was
all fuzzy bud caterpillars,
who I washed down with coffee
into cocoons
Which molted about
before you showed up,
for the butterflies.
By long about noon,
they were flying so high,
with me outside, it was
fluttering nuts, and with you
along for the ride, both of us
very glad that my stomach
was strong, and time flew
like butter,
daylong
until at some point,
I realized I was calm.
usage tips and prerequisites
Remember,
don't be a word
unless you look it up first,
and you know that it fits for what you're
for. Close enough that it works
in the ears,
to the brain, hell oh
light-bulb!, and the person says
"Hey! That's exactly you!" Or
"What in the heck
word is that?" And yah,
You bet.
You will be all set,
'cause you looked it up first.
As I just suggest,
if you'd care to check.
don't be a word
unless you look it up first,
and you know that it fits for what you're
for. Close enough that it works
in the ears,
to the brain, hell oh
light-bulb!, and the person says
"Hey! That's exactly you!" Or
"What in the heck
word is that?" And yah,
You bet.
You will be all set,
'cause you looked it up first.
As I just suggest,
if you'd care to check.
Play
I would never fast-forward the boring
part
If I could
in life, you miss so much chance
As it is. Why would I take
the risk?
You're better off being there, considering
everywhere else you could
be instead.
You might even end up
with a thought
in your head
part
If I could
in life, you miss so much chance
As it is. Why would I take
the risk?
You're better off being there, considering
everywhere else you could
be instead.
You might even end up
with a thought
in your head
waking moments
What is it like in your pussy
when your eyes see my dick begin
in a literal process of longing for you
with nothing between our skins, no threadbare
excuse
for delay? or of course, with nothing to say
what we must do. Not in eloquent gestures
or words and such, no growing insistence,
except when
and if. So rudely polite, in
unsecret wish.
Is it like oh yay,
here we go
again?
And if so
is that happy,
sarcastic, or patiently
zen?
when your eyes see my dick begin
in a literal process of longing for you
with nothing between our skins, no threadbare
excuse
for delay? or of course, with nothing to say
what we must do. Not in eloquent gestures
or words and such, no growing insistence,
except when
and if. So rudely polite, in
unsecret wish.
Is it like oh yay,
here we go
again?
And if so
is that happy,
sarcastic, or patiently
zen?
object lesson
They say wisdom is
what memory makes
of your mistakes,
or something, right?
But really, mistakes
are educational more
for other people. Well,
Edutainment, perhaps.
A multitask.
They get to see
the whole process unfold
down on me, without
the nasty distraction of doing
it, to be subsequently
concussed
to unconsciousness.
You see, much clearer
from where you stand
and stifle a laugh
on my behalf.
Because I can't. You do it
considerately.
This lesson's for us - but you'll be the one
reminding me. It has already
slipped
away, I guess.
So you be the one
to bring it back. My memory's not
the best for anything dumb.
what memory makes
of your mistakes,
or something, right?
But really, mistakes
are educational more
for other people. Well,
Edutainment, perhaps.
A multitask.
They get to see
the whole process unfold
down on me, without
the nasty distraction of doing
it, to be subsequently
concussed
to unconsciousness.
You see, much clearer
from where you stand
and stifle a laugh
on my behalf.
Because I can't. You do it
considerately.
This lesson's for us - but you'll be the one
reminding me. It has already
slipped
away, I guess.
So you be the one
to bring it back. My memory's not
the best for anything dumb.
dine & dash
you tip
on what it would have been
in some or many quantum worlds
Where things had gone another way, and you:
would be the one to pay.
on what it would have been
in some or many quantum worlds
Where things had gone another way, and you:
would be the one to pay.
Magic Kisses
Really, it wouldn't
matter if everyone on Earth found out
at once, about
Superman's secret identity.
That dude is so fast
and so smooth,
he could fly around the world
in a couple seconds kissing eight
billion people at once, before
they knew what hit them!
And they'd forget all about
it, plus any other
of his secrets.
That's still
one of his superpowers, right?
So how do we know
he's not already doing it?
Pretty creepy, Superman.
matter if everyone on Earth found out
at once, about
Superman's secret identity.
That dude is so fast
and so smooth,
he could fly around the world
in a couple seconds kissing eight
billion people at once, before
they knew what hit them!
And they'd forget all about
it, plus any other
of his secrets.
That's still
one of his superpowers, right?
So how do we know
he's not already doing it?
Pretty creepy, Superman.
teeterless
Not teetering, but on the brink of something
neither of us want, but both or either
of us would, that we can't get
for well or good.
If indiscretion is
the better part of valor standing down,
The courage it would take is just enough
for us. Let's paint this town.
neither of us want, but both or either
of us would, that we can't get
for well or good.
If indiscretion is
the better part of valor standing down,
The courage it would take is just enough
for us. Let's paint this town.
a treasury
A lot of people hate me. They're looking
at me all the time with hateless looks.
They're saving it. They save up hate
for later just to savor as they wait
for their next chance
to see me go away.
It's like a dance,
in some vague way. A clumsy
hunter tracking its
rejected prey. It's poignant, if
you didn't laugh - so sad,
the little games
they play
at me all the time with hateless looks.
They're saving it. They save up hate
for later just to savor as they wait
for their next chance
to see me go away.
It's like a dance,
in some vague way. A clumsy
hunter tracking its
rejected prey. It's poignant, if
you didn't laugh - so sad,
the little games
they play
make love of
You're just making love
of
me
I feel so
romantic
and personalized,
accessory
- and I heart!
I don't mind
I'm being made love
of,
dear
it's only
the reason,
and I know you want
me,
here.
And I heart!
I don't mind
believing
of
me
I feel so
romantic
and personalized,
accessory
- and I heart!
I don't mind
I'm being made love
of,
dear
it's only
the reason,
and I know you want
me,
here.
And I heart!
I don't mind
believing
a book that's been in the bath
who wants to read a book?
I do!
It's love, just to hold
- it's a comfort object
with all that it's been
through with you, so
carefully kept -
a book that's been in the bath,
your hands get wet, and large fat drops
reflecting within your nakedness
dive into the pages and hide their heads
the paper a pattern of patina
it inevitably gets, despite
your cares. It's ok, it creates
a more varying personal surface
to interact through,
and with.
I hope
I'll be reading it
After you
I do!
It's love, just to hold
- it's a comfort object
with all that it's been
through with you, so
carefully kept -
a book that's been in the bath,
your hands get wet, and large fat drops
reflecting within your nakedness
dive into the pages and hide their heads
the paper a pattern of patina
it inevitably gets, despite
your cares. It's ok, it creates
a more varying personal surface
to interact through,
and with.
I hope
I'll be reading it
After you
precrushed
Some bastard asshole son
of bitch has snuck
into my pack of Camel Crush
to pop the menthol berry buried
in the filter of each and every one!
If I were drunk, it's just
the kind of thing I might have done.
So now I sit deprived of this
enjoyable little ritual of innocence,
and all I'm left is filthy-habit
decadence, with leaden head,
the heavy thoughts of vengeance
pound upon.
of bitch has snuck
into my pack of Camel Crush
to pop the menthol berry buried
in the filter of each and every one!
If I were drunk, it's just
the kind of thing I might have done.
So now I sit deprived of this
enjoyable little ritual of innocence,
and all I'm left is filthy-habit
decadence, with leaden head,
the heavy thoughts of vengeance
pound upon.
Antipodienne
Lovely yet
Australian,
an upright antipodienne,
she works her way
down under it
to scheme
her next
and best
exploit
to benefit
this turning world,
by turning it to purposes
of greater goods than it yet knows
but in her eyes, it's all exposed -
a conquest in benevolence,
and patiently awaiting her.
It's not as if there's any rush.
She's always holding up the world.
It spins upon her fingertips.
She's contemplating longitude
and calculating increments
and climate trends,
she's passing through
in mind and weather
clemently, in summer pants
through Autumn mood
to find the place that she
was planned for. Suddenly
the scheme completes!
And looking round,
she's never less Australian,
but she belongs where she is
found, there making it more
lovely yet. And her as well,
by just in time to see -
another sun to set.
Australian,
an upright antipodienne,
she works her way
down under it
to scheme
her next
and best
exploit
to benefit
this turning world,
by turning it to purposes
of greater goods than it yet knows
but in her eyes, it's all exposed -
a conquest in benevolence,
and patiently awaiting her.
It's not as if there's any rush.
She's always holding up the world.
It spins upon her fingertips.
She's contemplating longitude
and calculating increments
and climate trends,
she's passing through
in mind and weather
clemently, in summer pants
through Autumn mood
to find the place that she
was planned for. Suddenly
the scheme completes!
And looking round,
she's never less Australian,
but she belongs where she is
found, there making it more
lovely yet. And her as well,
by just in time to see -
another sun to set.
very Wednesday
Wednesday seems like an
adjective,
a modifier of weeks
in the midst of each, it makes
its appearance as if
to say what it thinks,
midstream, midway -
a good point to stop
and take stock amidst all
of this middling through.
Very Wednesday of it, I am sure.
What a difference, too
adjective,
a modifier of weeks
in the midst of each, it makes
its appearance as if
to say what it thinks,
midstream, midway -
a good point to stop
and take stock amidst all
of this middling through.
Very Wednesday of it, I am sure.
What a difference, too
just-so cozily
A beautiful day
in the offing, it seems. Let's wait
a bit under the awning and see
if it passes us by, or comes in
like a storm, to stay for a spell
of warm rain, and things. Make
coffee and tea, for lingering
and small sweet talk signifying much
that's been rainily daily upon
our minds, not waiting or missing
the sunshine's touch
in the offing, it seems. Let's wait
a bit under the awning and see
if it passes us by, or comes in
like a storm, to stay for a spell
of warm rain, and things. Make
coffee and tea, for lingering
and small sweet talk signifying much
that's been rainily daily upon
our minds, not waiting or missing
the sunshine's touch
moderate modern standing
I'm a poet
of moderate
modern standing
around, coming up
with ideas, and putting
them down.
of moderate
modern standing
around, coming up
with ideas, and putting
them down.
awoke so
I think I must have dreamed of you
my hair is sticking standing out
in smoky plumes, with memory wiped
discourtesy of lightning strike,
no doubt
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
conflict buddies Pt.2
anybody
coming in here to mess
with me and my buddies, is going to have
MY BUDDIES
to deal with.
coming in here to mess
with me and my buddies, is going to have
MY BUDDIES
to deal with.
conflict buddies
Here's what I like about conflict-
You find out where you stand,
and who your BUDDIES are,
- and that NOBODY fucks
with your buddies! At least,
not so far
You find out where you stand,
and who your BUDDIES are,
- and that NOBODY fucks
with your buddies! At least,
not so far
unspoked
Your mind
is so far up
to no good, that you
can't even vouch
for your mouth.
It's been misunderstood.
Like a card, thrust sharp
between spokes, supposed
to add charm or an aerodynamic
flow, or some kind
of sound effect. Whatever it was,
the result
was wreck.
You are hardly fit now
to say what you meant,
with your knees and palm heels,
and one whole
side
of your fresh, raw face
alive and stinging with red
is so far up
to no good, that you
can't even vouch
for your mouth.
It's been misunderstood.
Like a card, thrust sharp
between spokes, supposed
to add charm or an aerodynamic
flow, or some kind
of sound effect. Whatever it was,
the result
was wreck.
You are hardly fit now
to say what you meant,
with your knees and palm heels,
and one whole
side
of your fresh, raw face
alive and stinging with red
the machine jerry built
respect
is built on
retrospect.
You know who to trust
when you know what to trust
them for, whatever they say
you'll get, you will judge
by reflection on previous
score.
is built on
retrospect.
You know who to trust
when you know what to trust
them for, whatever they say
you'll get, you will judge
by reflection on previous
score.
seduction of the ulterior
my mind is beyond beguiling you
at this time. I have things better left
to do undesigned,
so if I should
accidentally slip -
do you really think that I should?
Get over yourself,
or it.
at this time. I have things better left
to do undesigned,
so if I should
accidentally slip -
do you really think that I should?
Get over yourself,
or it.
shouldn't call 'em Injuns
Never call them "Injuns," even though
that's remarkably close
to just what the old colonial
stiff-upper accent
might have made of those
from Injia. It's not
considered correct
or considerate. Call them
Indians.
That's what
they call themselves -
the accent is different,
so don't say it wrong.
respect. Peace out
they have
a nuclear
bomb
that's remarkably close
to just what the old colonial
stiff-upper accent
might have made of those
from Injia. It's not
considered correct
or considerate. Call them
Indians.
That's what
they call themselves -
the accent is different,
so don't say it wrong.
respect. Peace out
they have
a nuclear
bomb
approbate
That was viral-style nasty. It deserves to GO,
wide!
LIKE & SHARE, hey people LIKE & SHARE
snide
wide!
LIKE & SHARE, hey people LIKE & SHARE
snide
mailbox fool
Let me guess:
"Your mailbox is full."
The task -
of clearing a pinchworth of space
from the precious past
to let present and future slip in
- not worth it to you? that
is some kind of sin.
"Your mailbox is full."
The task -
of clearing a pinchworth of space
from the precious past
to let present and future slip in
- not worth it to you? that
is some kind of sin.
hypothetical task
PLEASE
I'm terribly
easy
distractible,
easily, I mean
any time when
I am,
as I am, now
singly and mindfully
focused
on task, going off
one thing, only
spiraling out into
fractal rings of superimposed
(imperfectly) versions of what
possibility would suggest
isn't wrong. (I'm perfectly)
Sure,
it is
probably not.
I'm terribly
easy
distractible,
easily, I mean
any time when
I am,
as I am, now
singly and mindfully
focused
on task, going off
one thing, only
spiraling out into
fractal rings of superimposed
(imperfectly) versions of what
possibility would suggest
isn't wrong. (I'm perfectly)
Sure,
it is
probably not.
"Young Quixote"
Defending the faith is a dirty job. But somebody
has to do it
beautifully.
With ugliness
involved, I've pretty much gotta. Discussing
"social issues," sometimes,
you find yourselves down
to specifics considered unfit
for mixed company, which
you emphatically are, but
you flatter each other suggesting
that clinical phrasing and euphemism
can carry the day, triumphant in ways, everyone
feels free and pleased
to call understood
- which you use,
as your cue and excuse
to pull huge and grandstanding stance-dance moves
on the poor Church's good and innocent head! Well, I
don't have to be Innocent, Pius or Papal
at all,
to say "Bull!" to that!
Come hand me down
my favorite coat for my naked arms,
and my naked sword. It's right
over there by my Cowboys hat. With my naked eye,
I can see,
it's time,
I guess,
to war. Sort of
- Saddle destrier! For to ride out again en carousel,
we've been chasing each other's tails so well, oh
well, we forget
sometimes,
the smell that surrounds.
Ew.
Let us cut this chase, and proceed
with our points raised high
in a line. Just time
for a last crusade, and
cover your shame with your emperor's
cloak (that damn thing's mine!
And it's beautiful
On you, I think) and in all your glory
let's run this day
down the lists,
so tilted and whirled, how we've missed
- I will drop handkerchiefs
for you, silly girl.
has to do it
beautifully.
With ugliness
involved, I've pretty much gotta. Discussing
"social issues," sometimes,
you find yourselves down
to specifics considered unfit
for mixed company, which
you emphatically are, but
you flatter each other suggesting
that clinical phrasing and euphemism
can carry the day, triumphant in ways, everyone
feels free and pleased
to call understood
- which you use,
as your cue and excuse
to pull huge and grandstanding stance-dance moves
on the poor Church's good and innocent head! Well, I
don't have to be Innocent, Pius or Papal
at all,
to say "Bull!" to that!
Come hand me down
my favorite coat for my naked arms,
and my naked sword. It's right
over there by my Cowboys hat. With my naked eye,
I can see,
it's time,
I guess,
to war. Sort of
- Saddle destrier! For to ride out again en carousel,
we've been chasing each other's tails so well, oh
well, we forget
sometimes,
the smell that surrounds.
Ew.
Let us cut this chase, and proceed
with our points raised high
in a line. Just time
for a last crusade, and
cover your shame with your emperor's
cloak (that damn thing's mine!
And it's beautiful
On you, I think) and in all your glory
let's run this day
down the lists,
so tilted and whirled, how we've missed
- I will drop handkerchiefs
for you, silly girl.
Free as birds
It is free verse, with rhymes
that fall like birds
from the sky, to lie
where they lay,
for reporters to gather and theorize
ecological cause. But it's all
as it should be,
it's all in play.
that fall like birds
from the sky, to lie
where they lay,
for reporters to gather and theorize
ecological cause. But it's all
as it should be,
it's all in play.
Monday, November 27, 2017
little wounds
little wounds
appear on your hands, days
after they are made. You have almost
quit noticing them, or wondering when
you were ever so rough.
Was it work or play?
appear on your hands, days
after they are made. You have almost
quit noticing them, or wondering when
you were ever so rough.
Was it work or play?
many layers
I'm wearing way
too many layers. I miss them,
where the cold is gone. And I have lived
too much in the sun, for so many
years, I slip them on
at any excuse
to look a fool
wearing too many clothes
for the weather's best
- but look! See? See!
They come on and off!
I can pull off this look
quite handsomely,
I guess.
A sweater! And under that -
a button-shirt! Under that,
a tee! And a hoodie goes over,
and over that, my good
and favorite coat,
that I never get any excuse
to go out in. See how it goes
with my scarf!
How often do you get a chance to wear
a scarf? So comfy and bundled up,
and snug, all
slung
on my arm with the coat
and stuff. Just watch!
Like a magic trick, I will pull
and put it all on,
just as soon as it dips
just a little below
what the forecast called
for this outing we're on.
Are you ready? I am!
You can see
I have very well
planned for this.
Let's go!
The trick
to dressing in
too many layers is,
try not to draw too much
attention to it.
too many layers. I miss them,
where the cold is gone. And I have lived
too much in the sun, for so many
years, I slip them on
at any excuse
to look a fool
wearing too many clothes
for the weather's best
- but look! See? See!
They come on and off!
I can pull off this look
quite handsomely,
I guess.
A sweater! And under that -
a button-shirt! Under that,
a tee! And a hoodie goes over,
and over that, my good
and favorite coat,
that I never get any excuse
to go out in. See how it goes
with my scarf!
How often do you get a chance to wear
a scarf? So comfy and bundled up,
and snug, all
slung
on my arm with the coat
and stuff. Just watch!
Like a magic trick, I will pull
and put it all on,
just as soon as it dips
just a little below
what the forecast called
for this outing we're on.
Are you ready? I am!
You can see
I have very well
planned for this.
Let's go!
The trick
to dressing in
too many layers is,
try not to draw too much
attention to it.
the girl out of time out of mind
Don't worry
I know who you are
I have waited in cars,
for the girl out of time out of mind,
and always
counted it mine. And well-spent,
knowing you would arrive, gasping disbelief
and apology,
that so many things came in -
it was always
Now
that the girl out of time out of mind
would always arrive,
with perfect intent,
and with disbelief
in apology,
I have waited for you.
And you'll come.
In your own best time, and into
the fullness of which,
we'll flee.
I know who you are
I have waited in cars,
for the girl out of time out of mind,
and always
counted it mine. And well-spent,
knowing you would arrive, gasping disbelief
and apology,
that so many things came in -
it was always
Now
that the girl out of time out of mind
would always arrive,
with perfect intent,
and with disbelief
in apology,
I have waited for you.
And you'll come.
In your own best time, and into
the fullness of which,
we'll flee.
a question of short-term memory elves
There's something that I don't
understand, if your long-term memory
is great. Which it is! You say
- and I'll witness to that,
But you're bad
at short-term memory.
So you claim? And it's not my place
to dispute! But how
does a short-term
memory, once
let slip,
return to the fold? to complete
the great and the vivid truth
in the unbroken record
your long-term keepsake
picture box
has come to hold?
What little elves
slip those gifts in,
so you open it up
and gaze on them?
They only stole them away
for a spell, perhaps
that they cast -
and it served them well, but
in token of mischief
or gratitude, they steal
to your chest,
and slip them in
just behind your heart
Where every piece nests
in its final place,
fit
snug
with the others
you can't replace.
understand, if your long-term memory
is great. Which it is! You say
- and I'll witness to that,
But you're bad
at short-term memory.
So you claim? And it's not my place
to dispute! But how
does a short-term
memory, once
let slip,
return to the fold? to complete
the great and the vivid truth
in the unbroken record
your long-term keepsake
picture box
has come to hold?
What little elves
slip those gifts in,
so you open it up
and gaze on them?
They only stole them away
for a spell, perhaps
that they cast -
and it served them well, but
in token of mischief
or gratitude, they steal
to your chest,
and slip them in
just behind your heart
Where every piece nests
in its final place,
fit
snug
with the others
you can't replace.
"Clean"
You don't need
to worry bout me
anymore.
I broke free,
I swam to the opposite
shore.
and we'll see
who's better at being
themself,
because free
is higher than we
ever felt.
I'm clean;
I'm strong;
I'm bright;
I'm tall,
and no one's going to tell me I'm wrong,
and nothing's gonna stop me at all.
I'm clean;
I'm strong;
I'm bright;
I'm tall,
and nothing's gonna stop me at all.
I'm clean.
And we'll see
who's better at being
alone.
Without you,
there's finally nobody
home.
You don't need
to worry bout me
anymore.
You can go:
Enable yourself
to the door.
I'm clean,
I'm strong,
I'm bright,
I'm tall,
and no one's going to tell me I'm wrong,
and nothing's gonna stop me at all,
I'm clean,
I'm strong,
I'm bright,
I'm tall,
and nothing's gonna stop me at all.
I'm clean,
And we'll see
whose rise is the highest
from fall.
You don't need
to worry about me
at all.
And we'll see
who's head is it that
it's all in
'Cause this high
is freer than I've
ever been
I'm clean
I'm strong
I'm bright
I'm tall
and no one's going to tell me I'm wrong
and nothing's gonna stop me at all
I'm clean
I'm strong
I'm bright
I'm tall
and nothing's gonna stop me at all
I'm clean.
armistice
the clock should stop
as soon as you look at what time it is
and overreact, and suddenly rush
to finish all things - you did the right thing!
You decided to stop, and start getting ready for
whatever
you're late
to get ready to do.
But next thing you know,
you're still finishing up -
it's a half hour past, and then ten minutes more
from the moment you looked at the clock
and realized you'd lapsed,
and you started,
so furiously to catch
up.
The clock should just stop
for that. It's a virtuous act
in the middle, to quit
of anything soft - and to rush
to complete
what you're trying to do,
is the hardest part -
it's the thought, cut off
for the sake of the thing,
for the sake of these picked,
appointed times
rushing down at you
like the devil's tines
in a pitchfork poised
at a beating heart,
made for suffering.
The clock should just stop
for the hardest part,
and let us clear decks
and breathe a piece,
and get ready for what
we said we'd do. And
who we said we'd be.
as soon as you look at what time it is
and overreact, and suddenly rush
to finish all things - you did the right thing!
You decided to stop, and start getting ready for
whatever
you're late
to get ready to do.
But next thing you know,
you're still finishing up -
it's a half hour past, and then ten minutes more
from the moment you looked at the clock
and realized you'd lapsed,
and you started,
so furiously to catch
up.
The clock should just stop
for that. It's a virtuous act
in the middle, to quit
of anything soft - and to rush
to complete
what you're trying to do,
is the hardest part -
it's the thought, cut off
for the sake of the thing,
for the sake of these picked,
appointed times
rushing down at you
like the devil's tines
in a pitchfork poised
at a beating heart,
made for suffering.
The clock should just stop
for the hardest part,
and let us clear decks
and breathe a piece,
and get ready for what
we said we'd do. And
who we said we'd be.
firm plans
You're going to call
before you leave, right?
Once you come
to pick me up, it will be
too late, to shower
and shave and a change of clothes,
and everything else - one last
cigarette, perhaps, before
you pull up to see
the smoke. Please call,
I know about how long the drive takes.
As soon as you call, I will need every minute,
and just
a bit more,
for both our sakes.
before you leave, right?
Once you come
to pick me up, it will be
too late, to shower
and shave and a change of clothes,
and everything else - one last
cigarette, perhaps, before
you pull up to see
the smoke. Please call,
I know about how long the drive takes.
As soon as you call, I will need every minute,
and just
a bit more,
for both our sakes.
coauthor
I am writing a book
with you
right now
it remains to be seen
the credit you'll get
so much depends
upon etiquette
and editorship
and antagonists
and every which role
you play
in this
you can be amanuensis;
muse, or plow in and strew
developments, as only you
can. It remains to be seen
the credit you'll get
for all you've been
with you
right now
it remains to be seen
the credit you'll get
so much depends
upon etiquette
and editorship
and antagonists
and every which role
you play
in this
you can be amanuensis;
muse, or plow in and strew
developments, as only you
can. It remains to be seen
the credit you'll get
for all you've been
idiot luck
How many times
can I come right out and tell you what
I don't know yet how to say, and
it comes out fine?
As many
as you care to have, for
as long as you want, you will have your way
with mine,
and I
will be having my way
with yours. And together we'll mind
very much, as we have our way
with coincidence, fate,
destiny and luck,
and everything else so certainly sure.
Just as if we were great,
just as if we were both in the know
and the game is fixed.
When in fact,
we haven't got inside dope
at all, just an outside shot
with an idiot.
can I come right out and tell you what
I don't know yet how to say, and
it comes out fine?
As many
as you care to have, for
as long as you want, you will have your way
with mine,
and I
will be having my way
with yours. And together we'll mind
very much, as we have our way
with coincidence, fate,
destiny and luck,
and everything else so certainly sure.
Just as if we were great,
just as if we were both in the know
and the game is fixed.
When in fact,
we haven't got inside dope
at all, just an outside shot
with an idiot.
misunderstandings with the ideal reader
The way that you read my poems,
it's like
they were written to you,
which is an imposition at its best,
or quite daringly close
to it. A presumption, perhaps
at its most troublesome, which
- when proven true, will get up
and go, leaving you
with no further game
to pursue. And me,
I will write
another one.
it's like
they were written to you,
which is an imposition at its best,
or quite daringly close
to it. A presumption, perhaps
at its most troublesome, which
- when proven true, will get up
and go, leaving you
with no further game
to pursue. And me,
I will write
another one.
carefree
As much as I love
how we muck about, it's time
we considered our room for doubt, and why
we both hold so fiercely to it. To step up, consider
if time has come, if we need to admit
we believe in much more
than we think we'll get.
And if so,
figure out
necessarily what, if
anything's
next.
And
whether we strictly
need
to place a bet.
how we muck about, it's time
we considered our room for doubt, and why
we both hold so fiercely to it. To step up, consider
if time has come, if we need to admit
we believe in much more
than we think we'll get.
And if so,
figure out
necessarily what, if
anything's
next.
And
whether we strictly
need
to place a bet.
"the hundred left"
one hundred strong,
with mighty heave
burst
off
their
bonds to stand defiant, turn
and leave.
with mighty heave
burst
off
their
bonds to stand defiant, turn
and leave.
Sunday, November 26, 2017
the lists
With that look in your eyes
you have seen beyond
I'm a mystery bound
by your violent insight
and you'll hold me free
for the rest of my time
on earth, unless I surrender
conditionally, and agree
to the worst you'll be,
as often as it best pleases you,
too,
which sounds great to me,
but I'm still not sure if that means
we have anything else
to do.
you have seen beyond
I'm a mystery bound
by your violent insight
and you'll hold me free
for the rest of my time
on earth, unless I surrender
conditionally, and agree
to the worst you'll be,
as often as it best pleases you,
too,
which sounds great to me,
but I'm still not sure if that means
we have anything else
to do.
leave-taking
Thank you for asking. You're welcome, I'm glad
if I have been of service
or of interest. It certainly costs me
nothing
but enjoyable time, which I've always
been all too willing to spend. It's a pity
we can't have breakfast again. You know
how it is, and
how it isn't.
if I have been of service
or of interest. It certainly costs me
nothing
but enjoyable time, which I've always
been all too willing to spend. It's a pity
we can't have breakfast again. You know
how it is, and
how it isn't.
key made of locks
You hold yourself
in reserve, in case
and your hold is easy and calm,
and safest for everyone, you believe
and think. If you turned on your axis
just ninety degrees, you'd slip
in a hole just exactly the shape
your shape makes when seen from just
past this brink, where you catch and hold,
and are turning
again,
as all of you clicks
like teeth and eyes, and slides, as
all of the tumblers in you
spring free -
I don't know what else
it can do or is for, but
for sure,
this key
made of locks
fits me
in reserve, in case
and your hold is easy and calm,
and safest for everyone, you believe
and think. If you turned on your axis
just ninety degrees, you'd slip
in a hole just exactly the shape
your shape makes when seen from just
past this brink, where you catch and hold,
and are turning
again,
as all of you clicks
like teeth and eyes, and slides, as
all of the tumblers in you
spring free -
I don't know what else
it can do or is for, but
for sure,
this key
made of locks
fits me
Forward the Species
humanity is the greatest project
any species has ever embarked upon
so far as we know, and it is worth
the sacrifice of countless
billions
which anyway, would have been spent
on something
frivolous,
probably
like us.
any species has ever embarked upon
so far as we know, and it is worth
the sacrifice of countless
billions
which anyway, would have been spent
on something
frivolous,
probably
like us.
lock made of keys
maybe it was just
everything you said, but it made me think
that a whole new way of talk
had been invented, and I was
trying to catch up, to
contribute, only
you knew
the key to it all, but
maybe it was just
everything you said.
everything you said, but it made me think
that a whole new way of talk
had been invented, and I was
trying to catch up, to
contribute, only
you knew
the key to it all, but
maybe it was just
everything you said.
talkin' dirty, or
Well,
dirty talk always tends
to transgress. And most people,
holding themselves out as
decent, more or less, tend to go
straight for the nasty, transgress
that propriety line, that false
dichotomy, which they've set up and strengthen, partly
in order to misuse now, and then.
In contradiction lies
release, from the public self
to some wilder beast you give in to
what you try to hide, which is
hot. And that is exactly why. Otherwise,
we wouldn't bother. Me though,
I'm a feminist, so
-called, or effeminist some
may say, that's fine. Okay,
so naturally what I tend to transgress
is not propriety,
so much as a politicized conception
of what we all these days hold forth
to strive for as correct, but
secretly, maybe
cries out for correction? Yeah,
maybe. Though to be sure: just
between us two, only
for educational purposes, and entertainment
value. Because that's
not really
what we really are,
when we speak these sweet
everythings askew and ajar
- in a case like this, which we press
'til the instinct screams
give it all away, and be free!
Be free, for a series of deep
-drawn breaths, clothed in sheens
of another's sweat and then tapering
back to the greater and lesser things
that we know are right, and proper
for us. With a shh
and wink. Naturally, once
the obligatory geek-reference
pon-farr has seized us
and been spent,
we revert
to a by-then more
or less semblance
of how we feel our best self ought
to be, or acting like
at least.
But, you know, right there
right in the middle of things, right
there
that's just
what we want to test,
and transgress against - because we can,
and as a weird
kind of trust
and a confidence,
yes!
to drop
what we meant
to be, and get down
like a living thing,
sworn to secrecy
dirty talk always tends
to transgress. And most people,
holding themselves out as
decent, more or less, tend to go
straight for the nasty, transgress
that propriety line, that false
dichotomy, which they've set up and strengthen, partly
in order to misuse now, and then.
In contradiction lies
release, from the public self
to some wilder beast you give in to
what you try to hide, which is
hot. And that is exactly why. Otherwise,
we wouldn't bother. Me though,
I'm a feminist, so
-called, or effeminist some
may say, that's fine. Okay,
so naturally what I tend to transgress
is not propriety,
so much as a politicized conception
of what we all these days hold forth
to strive for as correct, but
secretly, maybe
cries out for correction? Yeah,
maybe. Though to be sure: just
between us two, only
for educational purposes, and entertainment
value. Because that's
not really
what we really are,
when we speak these sweet
everythings askew and ajar
- in a case like this, which we press
'til the instinct screams
give it all away, and be free!
Be free, for a series of deep
-drawn breaths, clothed in sheens
of another's sweat and then tapering
back to the greater and lesser things
that we know are right, and proper
for us. With a shh
and wink. Naturally, once
the obligatory geek-reference
pon-farr has seized us
and been spent,
we revert
to a by-then more
or less semblance
of how we feel our best self ought
to be, or acting like
at least.
But, you know, right there
right in the middle of things, right
there
that's just
what we want to test,
and transgress against - because we can,
and as a weird
kind of trust
and a confidence,
yes!
to drop
what we meant
to be, and get down
like a living thing,
sworn to secrecy
daring cancellation
The story of how I won you over
is still going on, I hope
that it has and will always be. Going on, drawn
out - it's one of those will-we
or won't-we deals
that keeps us tuned in,
for year after year, in the midst
of whatever else action-packed,
mythos-advancing or scare of the week
the writers work in,
until things peak
popularity-wise, and a trend
towards descent eases in, at around
the fifth season, or so
as a stunt, all a sudden,
away we go
is still going on, I hope
that it has and will always be. Going on, drawn
out - it's one of those will-we
or won't-we deals
that keeps us tuned in,
for year after year, in the midst
of whatever else action-packed,
mythos-advancing or scare of the week
the writers work in,
until things peak
popularity-wise, and a trend
towards descent eases in, at around
the fifth season, or so
as a stunt, all a sudden,
away we go
"Third Law"
I have such a heart for you, aching
with fine and romantic yawning,
I mean longing, it's
yawning up from behind
to close on my mind and leave everything
void enclosed in null. Except for
the sparkling wine
of consciousness, dawning
suspended in nothingness
less what's left after all
I know. After all I have tried - my best,
so beautiful, bold and wise,
and to such effect,
for all my lies
- I have not tried my best.
Just what passed for it.
I've mislaid every bet,
distracted by hits
as luck piled up I would count
every card
'til the shoes run empty, along
with the till.
To hurt til it fits,
broken-in and worn.
To have come up
cold. Like a hypocrite,
I will say I have had my fill.
Let me not be reborn.
Let the universe go, off and away
on its final stretch,
and let me stay on,
and grow old
with the rest of this emptiness.
with fine and romantic yawning,
I mean longing, it's
yawning up from behind
to close on my mind and leave everything
void enclosed in null. Except for
the sparkling wine
of consciousness, dawning
suspended in nothingness
less what's left after all
I know. After all I have tried - my best,
so beautiful, bold and wise,
and to such effect,
for all my lies
- I have not tried my best.
Just what passed for it.
I've mislaid every bet,
distracted by hits
as luck piled up I would count
every card
'til the shoes run empty, along
with the till.
To hurt til it fits,
broken-in and worn.
To have come up
cold. Like a hypocrite,
I will say I have had my fill.
Let me not be reborn.
Let the universe go, off and away
on its final stretch,
and let me stay on,
and grow old
with the rest of this emptiness.
finish.
This velvety Cabernet
Sauvignon
comports itself
in a gay cabaret of cavorting
notes, and trills, and
is gone.
Sauvignon
comports itself
in a gay cabaret of cavorting
notes, and trills, and
is gone.
lost in the backlight
you're standing right here,
and I can't see you. Your face
so beautiful, traced with mind's eye
from a thousand and more goings over
of times when you stood
Right here.
I could reach out and touch almost.
Now you're here,
all the background shines
so much,
from a host of foundations and frames
we've sketched in so deep,
the perspective recedes in traceries thick,
constellations of stars we've each placed, and named
, and hung
so much light, years off now -
it is still coming in
on us. What
comes next?
I will stand here, so fully and over
exposed, while you
stand here drowning
in halo effects, and your face
your beautiful face -
I can't see
for the light
coming off what we used
to be.
and I can't see you. Your face
so beautiful, traced with mind's eye
from a thousand and more goings over
of times when you stood
Right here.
I could reach out and touch almost.
Now you're here,
all the background shines
so much,
from a host of foundations and frames
we've sketched in so deep,
the perspective recedes in traceries thick,
constellations of stars we've each placed, and named
, and hung
so much light, years off now -
it is still coming in
on us. What
comes next?
I will stand here, so fully and over
exposed, while you
stand here drowning
in halo effects, and your face
your beautiful face -
I can't see
for the light
coming off what we used
to be.
Thanksgiving for days
Leftovers are best
when you've planned for them
and you've made ten times
what would have sufficed - because where
would have been the fun in not? You've got
so much more
to be thankful for
than just enough
could ever come close
to cover. And isn't
it nice? Yes it is.
It is plenty. And plenty is good.
In fact, it's one
of the best things there is
in this tumbled garden, and I assure you
this: you will never get anything good
to anyone
by a rejection
of anything good
that was given in gift.
Quit rejecting the good
within reach, in a twisted penance
against how horribly
the world outside, on your
doorstep, breathing and scratching,
preys on the conscience you have
so pain
-stakingly
jerry-rigged
up from concertina-wire
execution-style font
of those strident and earnest
accusers
you read with such avidity, and support
in spirit,
so many times
you recuse yourself
from open embrace of what
you've been so far too lucky
to face.
Grow up, and accept the things you can fix.
If there is any good, accept the gift.
You do not bring comfort, or aid, you do not
succor
or assuage
anyone suffering
by pretending to join them
in righteous and loving embrace, feeling
as fetish, for ribs so thin
You feel you must live for this.
Disgraceful act, to reject
what is good. Unless of course done
for a selfish cause: like girlish figure,
beach-ready bod, or to support the appearance
of a claimed allergy to some common food substance - otherwise,
disgraceful. To reject what is good - and especially if
you insultingly, unconscionably pose
in your striking way, as if doing so helps
those desperately in need
of the good you reject, oh! Right-on!
Ye righteous symbolist,
Spit
while you're at it,
in their empty bowl, you
cretin, you hypocrite, you monument
to vanity, you
disgrace to this world
and everything in it! Everything bad,
and everything good.
Or better yet, don't, though. Instead, come back,
repent, come in - it's Thanksgiving for days
in here, wash out that bowl,
and fix yourself
- as you so easily can, it would be shame
bordering treachery for you to pass
the burden by - this bowl, new and heavy
with freshly-hot plump, thick turkey
juicy shreds on soft thick mattresses
of gravy-laden stuffing, and sauced
with cranberry sauce, of course. What else? This
is what we call home-made. You can't take
anything in this world
this good
by force.
You can't even pay
So much gift in this life,
you know,
it would be a sin
to live
as if you too had none.
Have you had? To share?
Were there any in reach?
Did you give?
I gave. You
are welcomed
in. You're the only one
I could reach,
for this. Please
Take all
you wish, it
is free. It is good. It is better
than free:
it is
it was
a gift
when you've planned for them
and you've made ten times
what would have sufficed - because where
would have been the fun in not? You've got
so much more
to be thankful for
than just enough
could ever come close
to cover. And isn't
it nice? Yes it is.
It is plenty. And plenty is good.
In fact, it's one
of the best things there is
in this tumbled garden, and I assure you
this: you will never get anything good
to anyone
by a rejection
of anything good
that was given in gift.
Quit rejecting the good
within reach, in a twisted penance
against how horribly
the world outside, on your
doorstep, breathing and scratching,
preys on the conscience you have
so pain
-stakingly
jerry-rigged
up from concertina-wire
execution-style font
of those strident and earnest
accusers
you read with such avidity, and support
in spirit,
so many times
you recuse yourself
from open embrace of what
you've been so far too lucky
to face.
Grow up, and accept the things you can fix.
If there is any good, accept the gift.
You do not bring comfort, or aid, you do not
succor
or assuage
anyone suffering
by pretending to join them
in righteous and loving embrace, feeling
as fetish, for ribs so thin
You feel you must live for this.
Disgraceful act, to reject
what is good. Unless of course done
for a selfish cause: like girlish figure,
beach-ready bod, or to support the appearance
of a claimed allergy to some common food substance - otherwise,
disgraceful. To reject what is good - and especially if
you insultingly, unconscionably pose
in your striking way, as if doing so helps
those desperately in need
of the good you reject, oh! Right-on!
Ye righteous symbolist,
Spit
while you're at it,
in their empty bowl, you
cretin, you hypocrite, you monument
to vanity, you
disgrace to this world
and everything in it! Everything bad,
and everything good.
Or better yet, don't, though. Instead, come back,
repent, come in - it's Thanksgiving for days
in here, wash out that bowl,
and fix yourself
- as you so easily can, it would be shame
bordering treachery for you to pass
the burden by - this bowl, new and heavy
with freshly-hot plump, thick turkey
juicy shreds on soft thick mattresses
of gravy-laden stuffing, and sauced
with cranberry sauce, of course. What else? This
is what we call home-made. You can't take
anything in this world
this good
by force.
You can't even pay
So much gift in this life,
you know,
it would be a sin
to live
as if you too had none.
Have you had? To share?
Were there any in reach?
Did you give?
I gave. You
are welcomed
in. You're the only one
I could reach,
for this. Please
Take all
you wish, it
is free. It is good. It is better
than free:
it is
it was
a gift
share alike
Hey. Check it out!
look at this
it's ridiculous! I knew
as soon as I saw it "I know EXACTLY who
needs to see this thing" - you're going
to love it
Oh
wait.
You do? Like that? oh,
you really think so, really? How so?
Oh
Well
yes, I can see
I guess,
what you're saying, there. Not quite
here
where I am,
but from where you stand,
which is easy enough to see
from here, for me,
I get
where you're coming from.
And praise you
for your unique
view
-point
um
look at this
it's ridiculous! I knew
as soon as I saw it "I know EXACTLY who
needs to see this thing" - you're going
to love it
Oh
wait.
You do? Like that? oh,
you really think so, really? How so?
Oh
Well
yes, I can see
I guess,
what you're saying, there. Not quite
here
where I am,
but from where you stand,
which is easy enough to see
from here, for me,
I get
where you're coming from.
And praise you
for your unique
view
-point
um
aspirational
I wish I could use smaller words
in bigger ways, sometimes, and then
I try, I do
but it doesn't feel right
- when you know the right word,
the perfect word -
to eschew
in bigger ways, sometimes, and then
I try, I do
but it doesn't feel right
- when you know the right word,
the perfect word -
to eschew
get along, now
Remember how happy we always were to disagree
on things like politics, and
religion? Yeah, me
either, but you
have to admit, we took
and sometimes still do take
great pride and satisfaction in
agreeing to disagree. Those agreements
of ours
to disagree
were as thorough and successful
as any agreements ever seen
in the history of reason, since the
Tweedles -dum and -dee,
as I hope you observe
and appreciate,
see?
on things like politics, and
religion? Yeah, me
either, but you
have to admit, we took
and sometimes still do take
great pride and satisfaction in
agreeing to disagree. Those agreements
of ours
to disagree
were as thorough and successful
as any agreements ever seen
in the history of reason, since the
Tweedles -dum and -dee,
as I hope you observe
and appreciate,
see?
Friday, November 24, 2017
Stuffing.
Stuffing or dressing, it's really
quite filling. What I don't get
is cranberry sauce. Does anybody
actually put it on stuff, as a sauce? Maybe
it's just my upbringing, but we always
kept it to its own spot on the plate, and
tried not to let it get on anything. It
was to be consumed pure, for its own sake,
once a year. Mostly
for the associations.
Whereas stuffing, hey
I would eat that every day. The only thing
that stuff's stuffing for
is human beings
quite filling. What I don't get
is cranberry sauce. Does anybody
actually put it on stuff, as a sauce? Maybe
it's just my upbringing, but we always
kept it to its own spot on the plate, and
tried not to let it get on anything. It
was to be consumed pure, for its own sake,
once a year. Mostly
for the associations.
Whereas stuffing, hey
I would eat that every day. The only thing
that stuff's stuffing for
is human beings
with a beautiful view of what's missing from it
The sun has moved on,
and the view's gone inside
- but I thank you, for all
of the good you advise
Too late,
you told me to stay
warm in the sun. Well okay,
you told me on time, but I was late
hearing you. I should have paid
more attention. Instead,
I have paid the price
of retrospect, where you told me so's dance
around my neck, like the scratchy scarf
I am bundled in.
But of course, you would never tell
me them. Those told-me-so's. For one thing, you
didn't know that I wasn't listening.
For another, by now I can see
it myself. For another thing,
you've not been disposed
to gloat, not nearly enough,
which I suppose
is nice.
Meanwhile, I am here. Back in. Too late
to go on, too far to come back,
with the heat seeping on
and my scarf flung off,
and an aching back
where I used to be.
I sit with the view
in retrospect, and warm
in the memory
of where I should
have stayed.
It's gone
all cold, there
now.
But I feel like that
could
have been delayed
and the view's gone inside
- but I thank you, for all
of the good you advise
Too late,
you told me to stay
warm in the sun. Well okay,
you told me on time, but I was late
hearing you. I should have paid
more attention. Instead,
I have paid the price
of retrospect, where you told me so's dance
around my neck, like the scratchy scarf
I am bundled in.
But of course, you would never tell
me them. Those told-me-so's. For one thing, you
didn't know that I wasn't listening.
For another, by now I can see
it myself. For another thing,
you've not been disposed
to gloat, not nearly enough,
which I suppose
is nice.
Meanwhile, I am here. Back in. Too late
to go on, too far to come back,
with the heat seeping on
and my scarf flung off,
and an aching back
where I used to be.
I sit with the view
in retrospect, and warm
in the memory
of where I should
have stayed.
It's gone
all cold, there
now.
But I feel like that
could
have been delayed
make / believe
If I couldn't pretend,
it would be a shame
since we just make-believe
so much of our lives.
But if it were a choice
that you
gave me, between make or believe,
I would not even think,
or hesitate
- I'd be lost
so fast, so far, so deep
diving in, into every
whatever that it could be, that we
would make,
just so we could see.
And together,
we'd know
which path we took,
and agree.
it would be a shame
since we just make-believe
so much of our lives.
But if it were a choice
that you
gave me, between make or believe,
I would not even think,
or hesitate
- I'd be lost
so fast, so far, so deep
diving in, into every
whatever that it could be, that we
would make,
just so we could see.
And together,
we'd know
which path we took,
and agree.
deniable plausibility
I've gotten better
at secretly meaning
nothing. Letting on
reams of rote
implied and seeming
emotion, directed at what,
we don't know - but so real,
so felt, an abstract vividity
- there must be something
there concrete, correct? Something
deeper, or at least
specific, actual.
Well,
it
would seem
so, or should so
seem. Secretly,
though,
nope
nothing.
Nothing underneath
the fraught surface, just
another attempt at evocative
effect - and if so, well-done
right? or wrong,
I figure
at worst, at least,
at last, you wouldn't
have asked
how much it hurt
at secretly meaning
nothing. Letting on
reams of rote
implied and seeming
emotion, directed at what,
we don't know - but so real,
so felt, an abstract vividity
- there must be something
there concrete, correct? Something
deeper, or at least
specific, actual.
Well,
it
would seem
so, or should so
seem. Secretly,
though,
nope
nothing.
Nothing underneath
the fraught surface, just
another attempt at evocative
effect - and if so, well-done
right? or wrong,
I figure
at worst, at least,
at last, you wouldn't
have asked
how much it hurt
objective means
There is no
objectivity: they say.
No viewpoint
with the subjective viewer
(and its bias) subtracted
out. It can't be attained, or
so they claim. Thinkers
used to strive
scrupulously for lifetimes, to scrape
and excise, identify
and omit all traces of their own
"subjective"
from their observations
and conclusions, seeking
objectivity. They found it
hard, and declared it
impossible
by definition.
This is called "doing it wrong."
You don't eliminate subjective taint
through a harsh, disciplined process
of purging and cleansing one's personal
view of every subjective impurity. Even if
you could do it that way - who's to say
what you've really achieved? No, we get
to objectivity - objectivity actually, objectivity
quite literally - a view with all purely subjective
individual bias subtracted! - and easily,
even. It just takes two
No, really: better three, better yet,
us all.
Depending on how
important it is, a given
observation, we have the
means. Everyone available
with eyes to see,
and a mouth to report,
- or functional equivalents
thereof, keyboards, fingers,
other sensory equipment
taking different measurements
of the same thing between - and a brain
to compare (observations and reports,
others and/or one's own) or rather: many
of them.
We have plenty,
in fact. We have more
than enough
to use
to subtract.
Because reality isn't perception. It isn't
in the head. It is
what lies between us, that provides content
for perceptions
of each, which all wind up
transformed and absorbed
in variably altered form - the key term
is "variably" - in each individual everyone's
head. What we call perception
is not reality, but a
by-then multi-generational copy
of it.
Of reality. Of the same
thingy thing
that just happens to exist, right where
each of us has it, right between: there to measure,
detect, assess, take in, like so:
through eyes, for example,
up optic nerve, dump
to visual cortex, filter out
from there
to wherever such content is used
and goes, and then becoming (instantly):
memory
memory
memory,
writing,
reaccessing,
recreating,
new thought, cognition,
interpreting,
selecting,
reinterpreting,
comparing,
classifying,
reperceiving
- not in that order,
necessarily,
Perception.
Isn't reality: it's
the director's cut. One greater-than
IMAX-sized single-person audience
wide release version, for each of us.
A highly-processed and packaged product.
And meanwhile, reality
continues to lie
between us,
as it always does, scattered all
over the infinite and observable
cutting-room floor, which
we all often enough go back to
at will, to resample, remix, and explore.
From original ingredients,
fresh, local, organic
or modified, each as they are,
available to all to make anew the dish
from scratch, by as many recipes
as we've all improvised, or
learned, or deviously hatched.
There's something that's there, between us which
subjective treatment and subjective distortion
cannot distort, for a very good and simple reason:
With an ever-larger sampling, whatever veers off
from what's actually there
will average itself out
of the picture.
Each observation is a test
of perception - each person's. The standard
is one that everyone holds and can refer to. And
the more observers, the more observations: some true,
some less true, some grossly flawed, but
since only the truer observations converge
on what actually was, really there, to be seen
that we saw, and that
we all can still see, if pointed out - we will
increasingly find
that the more "subjectives" we add, each with
its own unique little quirks and flaws (or big) - but also
each with its own more-or-less accuracies
(which even the worst of us do really have)
- of all those more-or-less accuracies, the
-less veer off, and the
more- veer on, converging strong,
along lines and points that match up
to the plane or the sphere we're on. That are
somethings we all can see, if shown, and often
just spot by ourselves, on our own. But even if
we miss on the first past by, they exist
to be seen if you lead my eye, or if I
lead yours - except and unless
your eye or mine
are defective. And even that
is no reason to despair, or
guess.
Defects
all cancel, by averaging out.
Defects
of individual perception - from
whatever source! Defective equipment,
an eye, or brain, defective conception,
insanity, auteur theory
- each of those "off" results net loss, because
whatever defect may be their cause,
they all wander off. They tend in so many ways,
away
from reality,
and so are
lost.
Just so, the accurate signal nets gain, gains strength
and strength, combined and accumulated sans defect,
coming in from every which input combined
that doesn't distort or divert
from true point
or true line. By each degree it does
divert, the noise is lost, the signal
heard. The accurate signal - of which everyone
gets at least
a few - accrues, and that's all
it can do, because it agrees
with the only thing everyone
together has between them,
to see.
Perceptions that run true to what's really there
reinforce themselves
with each other, they come in
ever more clear, come ever more
verifiably correct, reality
comes in gangs
and throngs, and so
bearing each other out
of subjectivity,
these points place
and welcome and fit
everywhere where they
really belong.
So the purely individual
purely subjective view ("purely"
because unsupported for real)
is subtracted out, and we're left
with nothing but what they say
we can't get:
Objectivity.
Objectivity is a mass project
of Venn overlap and scrutiny within,
of repeated test, and it's easy,
you know. What's hard is to close
one's eyes and mind, and pretend
that truth
is something impossible
we can't do. That we can't
see or know, except
as a weird and distorted guess
at best.
Heck no! It's easy,
and we do it all
the time. Objectivity
is real, everywhere sufficient subjectivity combines
to give the attempt so much as a token try, and
we see
what's real,
what lies between us,
which is nothing that's only in any
one's mind.
As everywhere one's subjective view
fails to converge on what's really
there to find, on what's there
observable,
- and so observed
between us all,
all points converge on truth, except
each peculiar and defective view, and every one
of them runs away, and off
on its own, so presenting no obstacle
to you. And me, and we who know
quite well, that reality isn't only between
one's ears. It's between one's friends
and foes, and everyone who is here. The only people
who think it's just between ears
don't tend to have much else they
can fit in there,
it's clear.
But it's no concern. Don't sweat the fact
that yes, we all have
this or that defect, within
our subjective minds, or eyes,
or views, the peculiar perspectives
or frameworks of ours. We don't ever need
be afraid of such skews. Truth
has powerful effect, where light is sufficient,
where people have sense - which is acted-upon
by it. Observations add in, and magnify,
those that correspond with what's actually
real increase in grasp and in confidence
- while running away to all sides
go the false and the wrong.
Even our own.
Mass subjectivity
converges powerfully
on the real, by averaging out
every point of variance. Every point
where perception
converges on truth - these accumulate
and combine, reinforcing
one view
of what's seen: the accurate one,
the one by which senses are actually
acted-upon. While each point
where perception goes off, swerves out
and away from truth, to peculiar
degrees - whatever their cause! Subjective effects
of defective perception diminish
and eliminate themselves ever more, the further away
they sink or soar. Individual slant, individual
tint, individuals willfully blind
can rant - but input from everywhere will reinforce
what is actually there, when we really look.
With enough of us looking, subjective is lost.
Because it is merely unique.
It is only unique
and defective perception
that tends
away,
in any
and all of the ways
it can possibly steer - each veers
and swerves on its own little path,
or in flocks of like-minded, inculcated sway, but they all
wander off, effectually, the same: away.
They all make departure
from what really lies
between us all,
that we all can see.
They vary too variously to add up
to obscure the view of what's really
what. Of what really lies here,
between us all: all which we can see
however we wish!
- but with enough input, enough
tests run through, enough subjects
come back comparing results from that to this,
and looking again at the substance, whenever
a doubt comes up, we're left
unable to agree in anything
- except in what is.
Which is easy
and good,
convenient in fact,
once you can accept.
Objectivity does exist,
all around: it's a commonplace
thing, but with so much depth. It is that
in and through which we all connect,
much more than perception: it is
reality
Check.
objectivity: they say.
No viewpoint
with the subjective viewer
(and its bias) subtracted
out. It can't be attained, or
so they claim. Thinkers
used to strive
scrupulously for lifetimes, to scrape
and excise, identify
and omit all traces of their own
"subjective"
from their observations
and conclusions, seeking
objectivity. They found it
hard, and declared it
impossible
by definition.
This is called "doing it wrong."
You don't eliminate subjective taint
through a harsh, disciplined process
of purging and cleansing one's personal
view of every subjective impurity. Even if
you could do it that way - who's to say
what you've really achieved? No, we get
to objectivity - objectivity actually, objectivity
quite literally - a view with all purely subjective
individual bias subtracted! - and easily,
even. It just takes two
No, really: better three, better yet,
us all.
Depending on how
important it is, a given
observation, we have the
means. Everyone available
with eyes to see,
and a mouth to report,
- or functional equivalents
thereof, keyboards, fingers,
other sensory equipment
taking different measurements
of the same thing between - and a brain
to compare (observations and reports,
others and/or one's own) or rather: many
of them.
We have plenty,
in fact. We have more
than enough
to use
to subtract.
Because reality isn't perception. It isn't
in the head. It is
what lies between us, that provides content
for perceptions
of each, which all wind up
transformed and absorbed
in variably altered form - the key term
is "variably" - in each individual everyone's
head. What we call perception
is not reality, but a
by-then multi-generational copy
of it.
Of reality. Of the same
thingy thing
that just happens to exist, right where
each of us has it, right between: there to measure,
detect, assess, take in, like so:
through eyes, for example,
up optic nerve, dump
to visual cortex, filter out
from there
to wherever such content is used
and goes, and then becoming (instantly):
memory
memory
memory,
writing,
reaccessing,
recreating,
new thought, cognition,
interpreting,
selecting,
reinterpreting,
comparing,
classifying,
reperceiving
- not in that order,
necessarily,
Perception.
Isn't reality: it's
the director's cut. One greater-than
IMAX-sized single-person audience
wide release version, for each of us.
A highly-processed and packaged product.
And meanwhile, reality
continues to lie
between us,
as it always does, scattered all
over the infinite and observable
cutting-room floor, which
we all often enough go back to
at will, to resample, remix, and explore.
From original ingredients,
fresh, local, organic
or modified, each as they are,
available to all to make anew the dish
from scratch, by as many recipes
as we've all improvised, or
learned, or deviously hatched.
There's something that's there, between us which
subjective treatment and subjective distortion
cannot distort, for a very good and simple reason:
With an ever-larger sampling, whatever veers off
from what's actually there
will average itself out
of the picture.
Each observation is a test
of perception - each person's. The standard
is one that everyone holds and can refer to. And
the more observers, the more observations: some true,
some less true, some grossly flawed, but
since only the truer observations converge
on what actually was, really there, to be seen
that we saw, and that
we all can still see, if pointed out - we will
increasingly find
that the more "subjectives" we add, each with
its own unique little quirks and flaws (or big) - but also
each with its own more-or-less accuracies
(which even the worst of us do really have)
- of all those more-or-less accuracies, the
-less veer off, and the
more- veer on, converging strong,
along lines and points that match up
to the plane or the sphere we're on. That are
somethings we all can see, if shown, and often
just spot by ourselves, on our own. But even if
we miss on the first past by, they exist
to be seen if you lead my eye, or if I
lead yours - except and unless
your eye or mine
are defective. And even that
is no reason to despair, or
guess.
Defects
all cancel, by averaging out.
Defects
of individual perception - from
whatever source! Defective equipment,
an eye, or brain, defective conception,
insanity, auteur theory
- each of those "off" results net loss, because
whatever defect may be their cause,
they all wander off. They tend in so many ways,
away
from reality,
and so are
lost.
Just so, the accurate signal nets gain, gains strength
and strength, combined and accumulated sans defect,
coming in from every which input combined
that doesn't distort or divert
from true point
or true line. By each degree it does
divert, the noise is lost, the signal
heard. The accurate signal - of which everyone
gets at least
a few - accrues, and that's all
it can do, because it agrees
with the only thing everyone
together has between them,
to see.
Perceptions that run true to what's really there
reinforce themselves
with each other, they come in
ever more clear, come ever more
verifiably correct, reality
comes in gangs
and throngs, and so
bearing each other out
of subjectivity,
these points place
and welcome and fit
everywhere where they
really belong.
So the purely individual
purely subjective view ("purely"
because unsupported for real)
is subtracted out, and we're left
with nothing but what they say
we can't get:
Objectivity.
Objectivity is a mass project
of Venn overlap and scrutiny within,
of repeated test, and it's easy,
you know. What's hard is to close
one's eyes and mind, and pretend
that truth
is something impossible
we can't do. That we can't
see or know, except
as a weird and distorted guess
at best.
Heck no! It's easy,
and we do it all
the time. Objectivity
is real, everywhere sufficient subjectivity combines
to give the attempt so much as a token try, and
we see
what's real,
what lies between us,
which is nothing that's only in any
one's mind.
As everywhere one's subjective view
fails to converge on what's really
there to find, on what's there
observable,
- and so observed
between us all,
all points converge on truth, except
each peculiar and defective view, and every one
of them runs away, and off
on its own, so presenting no obstacle
to you. And me, and we who know
quite well, that reality isn't only between
one's ears. It's between one's friends
and foes, and everyone who is here. The only people
who think it's just between ears
don't tend to have much else they
can fit in there,
it's clear.
But it's no concern. Don't sweat the fact
that yes, we all have
this or that defect, within
our subjective minds, or eyes,
or views, the peculiar perspectives
or frameworks of ours. We don't ever need
be afraid of such skews. Truth
has powerful effect, where light is sufficient,
where people have sense - which is acted-upon
by it. Observations add in, and magnify,
those that correspond with what's actually
real increase in grasp and in confidence
- while running away to all sides
go the false and the wrong.
Even our own.
Mass subjectivity
converges powerfully
on the real, by averaging out
every point of variance. Every point
where perception
converges on truth - these accumulate
and combine, reinforcing
one view
of what's seen: the accurate one,
the one by which senses are actually
acted-upon. While each point
where perception goes off, swerves out
and away from truth, to peculiar
degrees - whatever their cause! Subjective effects
of defective perception diminish
and eliminate themselves ever more, the further away
they sink or soar. Individual slant, individual
tint, individuals willfully blind
can rant - but input from everywhere will reinforce
what is actually there, when we really look.
With enough of us looking, subjective is lost.
Because it is merely unique.
It is only unique
and defective perception
that tends
away,
in any
and all of the ways
it can possibly steer - each veers
and swerves on its own little path,
or in flocks of like-minded, inculcated sway, but they all
wander off, effectually, the same: away.
They all make departure
from what really lies
between us all,
that we all can see.
They vary too variously to add up
to obscure the view of what's really
what. Of what really lies here,
between us all: all which we can see
however we wish!
- but with enough input, enough
tests run through, enough subjects
come back comparing results from that to this,
and looking again at the substance, whenever
a doubt comes up, we're left
unable to agree in anything
- except in what is.
Which is easy
and good,
convenient in fact,
once you can accept.
Objectivity does exist,
all around: it's a commonplace
thing, but with so much depth. It is that
in and through which we all connect,
much more than perception: it is
reality
Check.
excess of ease
I do so love
an excess of ease
as if slung between trees
with a glad, greedy glass of iced sun tea
so ready to hand, in the other
and in-between sips, a wand,
waving lazily, some weaving maestro's
baton - and in response,
as if all at once, going on
all along,
bursting back and forth, a symphony:
birdsong
an excess of ease
as if slung between trees
with a glad, greedy glass of iced sun tea
so ready to hand, in the other
and in-between sips, a wand,
waving lazily, some weaving maestro's
baton - and in response,
as if all at once, going on
all along,
bursting back and forth, a symphony:
birdsong
secrets of memory
Memory makes a secret
of the forgotten.
What a heartbreaking thing, when a friend
tells you a story you were there to see,
and you have nothing
except your trust in them
- and your wish that it happened,
and how right it feels that it
could have, did -
to create a picture,
to fill in the color
and shade, how it must have
felt, and been - how embarrassing
not so long ago, now
yes,
I remember it
well,
somehow.
of the forgotten.
What a heartbreaking thing, when a friend
tells you a story you were there to see,
and you have nothing
except your trust in them
- and your wish that it happened,
and how right it feels that it
could have, did -
to create a picture,
to fill in the color
and shade, how it must have
felt, and been - how embarrassing
not so long ago, now
yes,
I remember it
well,
somehow.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Inarguably. pt.2
You can always remark
unremarkably, to disprove a point
that remains unphased; you can always
ask questions
that any can see
have been answered before you asked,
or maybe you raise a concern
that isn't one. It isn't a question,
just 'cause you pose. If nothing
is there to be asked, but you ask
something anyway, that just shows
what you know.
It helps if you know
what your basis is, and whether
there is any basis in it. And how
to proceed with grounded steps,
from one to the next without a skip
or a leap to avoid the gaping
crack that you probably know
is there, but hope to obscure
by your choice of facts. It's
interesting that (and why) you care.
Some people like to argue to win, not
to come away with the strongest case
even if it's no longer the one they
brought in. Some people argue to keep
or save face, in disregard of what lies
behind: their brains, just not a priority.
These people can question, unquestionably.
But often enough, the unquestionable
remains, inarguably - though they will:
they argue with it in so many ways,
and with questions they raise
that are no more than pose,
without substance or basis, overt
or inferred. There are no stupid
questions, they say it's true. But truly,
there are stupid questioners.
unremarkably, to disprove a point
that remains unphased; you can always
ask questions
that any can see
have been answered before you asked,
or maybe you raise a concern
that isn't one. It isn't a question,
just 'cause you pose. If nothing
is there to be asked, but you ask
something anyway, that just shows
what you know.
It helps if you know
what your basis is, and whether
there is any basis in it. And how
to proceed with grounded steps,
from one to the next without a skip
or a leap to avoid the gaping
crack that you probably know
is there, but hope to obscure
by your choice of facts. It's
interesting that (and why) you care.
Some people like to argue to win, not
to come away with the strongest case
even if it's no longer the one they
brought in. Some people argue to keep
or save face, in disregard of what lies
behind: their brains, just not a priority.
These people can question, unquestionably.
But often enough, the unquestionable
remains, inarguably - though they will:
they argue with it in so many ways,
and with questions they raise
that are no more than pose,
without substance or basis, overt
or inferred. There are no stupid
questions, they say it's true. But truly,
there are stupid questioners.
reasonably well-known
I want to be reasonably well-known,
but not
for what I do best. For something
else, not what I hold sacred
and dear. And people could get
into that as well, if they want,
I guess, but I'd probably
tell them to go to hell.
but not
for what I do best. For something
else, not what I hold sacred
and dear. And people could get
into that as well, if they want,
I guess, but I'd probably
tell them to go to hell.
inarguably
But arguably, all things
are questionable,
in the same sense as all things
are remarkable:
the literal sense.
All it takes is a will
to folly, whimsy,
or inconsequence.
are questionable,
in the same sense as all things
are remarkable:
the literal sense.
All it takes is a will
to folly, whimsy,
or inconsequence.
busted flush
I have never before
in my life felt like
there was no way out.
And I don't feel trapped -
just becalmed, or marooned, but with less
a suggestion of color. Without
any great deal of grief or regret,
I hear you
ask how I've been. And then
how I am.
I'm still me, and that's good.
I always am. But no news. No news
is good. And I'm happy as hell
that you're happy with him.
You deserve that shit, bitch. You're
the ace queen jack ten flush
that I almost had, an unbeatable
hand. But I was the king
of not coming through on that,
and you're never a bitch. I'm sorry,
I just needed something for emphasis.
How's the kid, how's the knee, how's the
rain, how's you? I'm just happy to hear -
yeah,
I know.
Me, too.
in my life felt like
there was no way out.
And I don't feel trapped -
just becalmed, or marooned, but with less
a suggestion of color. Without
any great deal of grief or regret,
I hear you
ask how I've been. And then
how I am.
I'm still me, and that's good.
I always am. But no news. No news
is good. And I'm happy as hell
that you're happy with him.
You deserve that shit, bitch. You're
the ace queen jack ten flush
that I almost had, an unbeatable
hand. But I was the king
of not coming through on that,
and you're never a bitch. I'm sorry,
I just needed something for emphasis.
How's the kid, how's the knee, how's the
rain, how's you? I'm just happy to hear -
yeah,
I know.
Me, too.
malicious :-)
i
was the one
who deliberately dropped
a clump of dryer lint
on top of your plate
of saucy rice and meat
it was me. I confess,
but the lint was clean,
you know
I would never hurt you,
though
i was the one
who put all the ice
in your drink, to hand it
to you. Did you know? You didn't
want ice in that drink. You know,
you never want ice in that drink. You like ice
in the other drink, the one that you asked for. I
gave you the drink that gets no ice, that you didn't
ask for, with ice in it. That was me
i was the one
who keyed your portable hard-drive
shiny in Corvette red, i
was the one who answered the phone
when your sister called up
to tell her you're dead, i
was the one
who punctured the bed - your waterbed,
you know I sleep there too, so you'd never suspect
- but I was the one. There's nobody here
but us two.
was the one
who deliberately dropped
a clump of dryer lint
on top of your plate
of saucy rice and meat
it was me. I confess,
but the lint was clean,
you know
I would never hurt you,
though
i was the one
who put all the ice
in your drink, to hand it
to you. Did you know? You didn't
want ice in that drink. You know,
you never want ice in that drink. You like ice
in the other drink, the one that you asked for. I
gave you the drink that gets no ice, that you didn't
ask for, with ice in it. That was me
i was the one
who keyed your portable hard-drive
shiny in Corvette red, i
was the one who answered the phone
when your sister called up
to tell her you're dead, i
was the one
who punctured the bed - your waterbed,
you know I sleep there too, so you'd never suspect
- but I was the one. There's nobody here
but us two.
the other plum
In the palm of my hand
like a plump, ripe fruit
sits a plum just as good
as a metaphor. I could
test it with teeth,
be the judge of its juice,
but I'm saving this one for
you. Je t'adore
Yes, I know half the plums
at the store are sour, but
the other half shut your
eyes with bliss, and take you away
with their beautiful flesh,
and their juice flowing sweet,
and I already ate mine first.
It was sour, so this
is for you. I will watch your face
like a plump, ripe fruit
sits a plum just as good
as a metaphor. I could
test it with teeth,
be the judge of its juice,
but I'm saving this one for
you. Je t'adore
Yes, I know half the plums
at the store are sour, but
the other half shut your
eyes with bliss, and take you away
with their beautiful flesh,
and their juice flowing sweet,
and I already ate mine first.
It was sour, so this
is for you. I will watch your face
"Tell By Looking"
I gave up on my baby it's the worst mistake
I ever made
I thought that I'd be better off with this attractive
better-looking babe
it didn't quite work out that way, I found myself
in misery
and then I called my baby, she said she did not
give up on me
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
and things are not the same oh no my baby gets
to call the shots
and most of them are right at me I dodge with
all the speed I got
and I can understand I understand why she's
upset with me
but I'm so glad I'm forgiven, I'll treat her good
as I can be
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
and things are getting better, she looks happier
most every day
I'm sorry I was wrong to her, I'll say to her
I'll say, I'll say
and soon she'll stop doing all these things and treat me
like it used to be
well just the other day, for instance, she did my laundry
just for me
scattered my clothes around the block
borrowed my car and changed the locks
I really don't care I'm still in shock - she loves me!
she loves me
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
I ever made
I thought that I'd be better off with this attractive
better-looking babe
it didn't quite work out that way, I found myself
in misery
and then I called my baby, she said she did not
give up on me
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
and things are not the same oh no my baby gets
to call the shots
and most of them are right at me I dodge with
all the speed I got
and I can understand I understand why she's
upset with me
but I'm so glad I'm forgiven, I'll treat her good
as I can be
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
and things are getting better, she looks happier
most every day
I'm sorry I was wrong to her, I'll say to her
I'll say, I'll say
and soon she'll stop doing all these things and treat me
like it used to be
well just the other day, for instance, she did my laundry
just for me
scattered my clothes around the block
borrowed my car and changed the locks
I really don't care I'm still in shock - she loves me!
she loves me
oh, she's in love again, ah
she's all in love again,
oh, she's so in love again,
you just can't tell by looking
can you though
Saturday, November 18, 2017
kept secrets
nights like these,
the darkness intertwines
like a secret we've always kept
between us, and the silence
is next
to break and share -
just one more little breach
between us,
that will always be there.
our secrets
broke open and kept
between us, with nobody
to tell what was known,
what's always been new
- the whole world closes
in, to join in
the hush
we own
the darkness intertwines
like a secret we've always kept
between us, and the silence
is next
to break and share -
just one more little breach
between us,
that will always be there.
our secrets
broke open and kept
between us, with nobody
to tell what was known,
what's always been new
- the whole world closes
in, to join in
the hush
we own
the moon tolls
you might as well charge the moon
a toll to cross the sky -
when it's full, it would pay
through the nose, when it's new
- it could just about
slip by,
but you'd catch it
in passing by watching
the turns of tide.
a toll to cross the sky -
when it's full, it would pay
through the nose, when it's new
- it could just about
slip by,
but you'd catch it
in passing by watching
the turns of tide.
further and farther
farther out and further in
goes the circle we've made the world of
now
the center is where we've always been
the edges are where we find ourselves
and we whip around it
at the speed of days, pushing opposite sides
even farther out.
Soon the center contains so much more of us
than anything we've ever cared about,
and I want to go farther than I've ever been,
I want to go further ways with you, further
paths leading down, to farther skies
always looking to fall, never watching
behind - I want to go further and farther in
than anyone's ever been privileged
to try. Leave the world that we've made, this
hula hoop
to shimmy away while whatever we do
takes flight
goes the circle we've made the world of
now
the center is where we've always been
the edges are where we find ourselves
and we whip around it
at the speed of days, pushing opposite sides
even farther out.
Soon the center contains so much more of us
than anything we've ever cared about,
and I want to go farther than I've ever been,
I want to go further ways with you, further
paths leading down, to farther skies
always looking to fall, never watching
behind - I want to go further and farther in
than anyone's ever been privileged
to try. Leave the world that we've made, this
hula hoop
to shimmy away while whatever we do
takes flight
within reach
there are only times
like these.
Times where we keep
our feelings at arm's-length distance, in spite
of our differing reach,
we know where those feelings are. They play
at our fingertips, lightly, so ready for each
of us,
if we
grab and stuff in our mouths,
so as to be ready to blurt and confess -
but having stepped once, we'd each want
to go too far, we'd want to get it all
said at once.
Which is just
what those feelings want,
so we'd reach and we'd grab
and we'd stuff, until gagged
and muffled, with chipmunk-cheeks,
we'd reach out for more, to see
how much left -
then we'd find
- we'd feel, there's too much.
Those feelings
we keep within fingertip-reach won't grow
any less, as we grasp, and we gasp
and we stuff, we will never
be able to get
them all in
from the lips,
to the mouth to the tip
of a tongue
where they'd always belong.
Not to speak, maybe not. Not as such,
just to be within reach,
for whatever we'd care
to let shine through the eyes, or
take on
unacknowledged in heart,
or mind, without whisper betraying mouth
to eggshell ear, and no one
to say that it's wrong.
Let's do it.
Let's grab all of them
to keep safe and inside, where they'll always be.
No more flitting at length in a distance of fingertips:
Grab and stuff, grab and stuff, get them in
and digest. Get them all inside,
where they'll always belong,
with a swallow that feels
like the end of a song
like these.
Times where we keep
our feelings at arm's-length distance, in spite
of our differing reach,
we know where those feelings are. They play
at our fingertips, lightly, so ready for each
of us,
if we
grab and stuff in our mouths,
so as to be ready to blurt and confess -
but having stepped once, we'd each want
to go too far, we'd want to get it all
said at once.
Which is just
what those feelings want,
so we'd reach and we'd grab
and we'd stuff, until gagged
and muffled, with chipmunk-cheeks,
we'd reach out for more, to see
how much left -
then we'd find
- we'd feel, there's too much.
Those feelings
we keep within fingertip-reach won't grow
any less, as we grasp, and we gasp
and we stuff, we will never
be able to get
them all in
from the lips,
to the mouth to the tip
of a tongue
where they'd always belong.
Not to speak, maybe not. Not as such,
just to be within reach,
for whatever we'd care
to let shine through the eyes, or
take on
unacknowledged in heart,
or mind, without whisper betraying mouth
to eggshell ear, and no one
to say that it's wrong.
Let's do it.
Let's grab all of them
to keep safe and inside, where they'll always be.
No more flitting at length in a distance of fingertips:
Grab and stuff, grab and stuff, get them in
and digest. Get them all inside,
where they'll always belong,
with a swallow that feels
like the end of a song
Friday, November 17, 2017
Everything's right
I just want to make
sure everything's right -
I know I should trust
you for that, more
than me.
I rarely make
anything right, after
all, but you
have made everything right I see
at least from here,
with the two of us. And
you have got all of the truth
you need,
oh let me drop mine,
whatever it is. It's irrelevant
now, I'm sure
we can both concede
sure everything's right -
I know I should trust
you for that, more
than me.
I rarely make
anything right, after
all, but you
have made everything right I see
at least from here,
with the two of us. And
you have got all of the truth
you need,
oh let me drop mine,
whatever it is. It's irrelevant
now, I'm sure
we can both concede
card trick
If I were the type
to play my cards right,
I should probably have
shut up by now. But I talk
my way out of the best
things in life,
as I know
only I know
how.
to play my cards right,
I should probably have
shut up by now. But I talk
my way out of the best
things in life,
as I know
only I know
how.
Autumnfall
walking, the night -
it's
melancholy,
with sharp bits of it flying around
dead leaves,
weaponized in an Autumn storm,
shredding themselves to tinder-dry shards,
trying to get in your eyes, as you strive
on an otherwise
beautiful night,
for a glimpse of the moon -
that you can't well see, with your eyes
squinched tight.
it's
melancholy,
with sharp bits of it flying around
dead leaves,
weaponized in an Autumn storm,
shredding themselves to tinder-dry shards,
trying to get in your eyes, as you strive
on an otherwise
beautiful night,
for a glimpse of the moon -
that you can't well see, with your eyes
squinched tight.
Analysis
As with anything,
you must weigh
the risks against
the benefits, and decide
not which
but whether
you want
to take them both.
For
if you don't, you always can
decide not to decide
again.
you must weigh
the risks against
the benefits, and decide
not which
but whether
you want
to take them both.
For
if you don't, you always can
decide not to decide
again.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
the plaint
This poem seems haunted to me,
somehow. It feels like I never
loved it enough, like I wrote it
and just rushed on.
Now it sends out its plaint as it always does,
as it always has, maybe always
would
- but with just enough
of
an emptiness,
Echoing through the spaces and lines, that maybe
I could have filled up. Or tried,
I guess
if I could,
I should've
at least with lies
somehow. It feels like I never
loved it enough, like I wrote it
and just rushed on.
Now it sends out its plaint as it always does,
as it always has, maybe always
would
- but with just enough
of
an emptiness,
Echoing through the spaces and lines, that maybe
I could have filled up. Or tried,
I guess
if I could,
I should've
at least with lies
Anthropogenic Climate Change
"Anthropogenic Climate Change." It blows my mind,
the controversy. Anthropogenic Climate Change,
if true, is the greatest and best piece of news
that was ever received
by humanity!
If we can impact global temperature -
Wait! To be clear, I think we are. But I want
to believe, so I'd like
to be sure.
All we need is to find, oh,
a dozen of things we can do
to lower the temp (oh, wait!
- we already have) and a dozen more things
that we know do contribute to raise
it up (oh, we already have). After that,
we just study which ones can we use,
most expediently,
and to greatest effect,
in directions we choose.
It will take us some doing. It might
take some time. If some distance inland
in high-value coastal property sinks
under rising tides, while we're studying it?
Still it's nothing compared to the next Cretaceous
- which I warmly assure you, is in store for us!
Or the next ice age - which is equally sure.
In its own good time, the Earth loves extremes
that we'd rather abhor. So to find
we're the ones
who can (actually do!) change
the global outcome - well,
how can this not be great good
news? The best that we've had
since we've been alive!
The people who think we must study
and strive to limit the impact of what we do
are small-minded misanthropes,
nincompoops. Their influence here
will be minuscule. It will not prevail.
When study we must, as study we will,
we'll study for us, and for what we want.
Which is natural.
A couple ice-caps of reasonable size, a poetic procession
of seasons to please our eyes, and our crops, and our real
estate.
Anthropogenic Climate Change.
Let no one deny,
it is going to be great!
We will study this thing, when we get around to.
Once a few things sink, they'll find money enough
- but not to curtail our influence! Not
to limit the impact we make! No love, we will study
the means to increase that impact. To direct it
in ways that pay us back, and look lovely to us.
If we do have effect, then we will have control.
If you think that we can't,
you're a lovely fool.
If you think that's a shame,
you've a numb,
numb skull. There is no way to learn
to restrain our effect, without learning also
how to direct it. We will focus our studies,
as always, on things
that are useful and cool,
and your vote will not count
in this climate change:
Anthropogenic!
BECAUSE WE RULE
the controversy. Anthropogenic Climate Change,
if true, is the greatest and best piece of news
that was ever received
by humanity!
If we can impact global temperature -
Wait! To be clear, I think we are. But I want
to believe, so I'd like
to be sure.
All we need is to find, oh,
a dozen of things we can do
to lower the temp (oh, wait!
- we already have) and a dozen more things
that we know do contribute to raise
it up (oh, we already have). After that,
we just study which ones can we use,
most expediently,
and to greatest effect,
in directions we choose.
It will take us some doing. It might
take some time. If some distance inland
in high-value coastal property sinks
under rising tides, while we're studying it?
Still it's nothing compared to the next Cretaceous
- which I warmly assure you, is in store for us!
Or the next ice age - which is equally sure.
In its own good time, the Earth loves extremes
that we'd rather abhor. So to find
we're the ones
who can (actually do!) change
the global outcome - well,
how can this not be great good
news? The best that we've had
since we've been alive!
The people who think we must study
and strive to limit the impact of what we do
are small-minded misanthropes,
nincompoops. Their influence here
will be minuscule. It will not prevail.
When study we must, as study we will,
we'll study for us, and for what we want.
Which is natural.
A couple ice-caps of reasonable size, a poetic procession
of seasons to please our eyes, and our crops, and our real
estate.
Anthropogenic Climate Change.
Let no one deny,
it is going to be great!
We will study this thing, when we get around to.
Once a few things sink, they'll find money enough
- but not to curtail our influence! Not
to limit the impact we make! No love, we will study
the means to increase that impact. To direct it
in ways that pay us back, and look lovely to us.
If we do have effect, then we will have control.
If you think that we can't,
you're a lovely fool.
If you think that's a shame,
you've a numb,
numb skull. There is no way to learn
to restrain our effect, without learning also
how to direct it. We will focus our studies,
as always, on things
that are useful and cool,
and your vote will not count
in this climate change:
Anthropogenic!
BECAUSE WE RULE
rejected legs poem #1
I'm going to write a super-embarrassing poem
about your legs, only not
right now.
Anyway, when I do! it would only embarrass
me,
as a poet.
It couldn't conceivably embarrass you,
as a leg-lady. Frankly,
that should be impossible. You've got
legs like ZZ Top's got beards, specifically,
two of them. The third guy's name is Beard,
Frank, I think, but all he's got's a 'stache.
Your legs are more laid-back,
though,
than a song like those
guys would write and sing, but
I bet if they saw your legs,
they would think again.
about your legs, only not
right now.
Anyway, when I do! it would only embarrass
me,
as a poet.
It couldn't conceivably embarrass you,
as a leg-lady. Frankly,
that should be impossible. You've got
legs like ZZ Top's got beards, specifically,
two of them. The third guy's name is Beard,
Frank, I think, but all he's got's a 'stache.
Your legs are more laid-back,
though,
than a song like those
guys would write and sing, but
I bet if they saw your legs,
they would think again.
"About Your Legs (Both Of Them)"
Her legs are like,
well, they look like
- silksoft, breatheably suffused
all through with a blushing glow,
if white could blush. 'Cause, you know,
they're pretty pale. I'm
not a racist, but her legs,
man
hers are nice. There's nothing between
us
that gives me the right
to obsess over her, so
technically I'm not. Any part
of that, I just
looked it up. To "obsess"
means something
really DUMB
man, I don't get it. People
are weird and that's
a fact. Her legs,
though,
make up for the rest
of us, in the balance
of natural things,
wherever there's lack.
With the strength in them,
and
woo.
You know? Everything else that ostensibly exists
crowds for the exits of my mind to make room, for
just what's coming in
through my eyes, to glow in my
love-heart
eyes,
pow
zoom
whenever I see
her legs.
I'm really not even
a "leg man" to be
honest,
usually
well, they look like
- silksoft, breatheably suffused
all through with a blushing glow,
if white could blush. 'Cause, you know,
they're pretty pale. I'm
not a racist, but her legs,
man
hers are nice. There's nothing between
us
that gives me the right
to obsess over her, so
technically I'm not. Any part
of that, I just
looked it up. To "obsess"
means something
really DUMB
man, I don't get it. People
are weird and that's
a fact. Her legs,
though,
make up for the rest
of us, in the balance
of natural things,
wherever there's lack.
With the strength in them,
and
woo.
You know? Everything else that ostensibly exists
crowds for the exits of my mind to make room, for
just what's coming in
through my eyes, to glow in my
love-heart
eyes,
pow
zoom
whenever I see
her legs.
I'm really not even
a "leg man" to be
honest,
usually
Have you noticed how the world keeps getting better?
Is it just my impression? Or does the world
keep changing,
inexorably,
for the better? Have you noticed how
that happens?
I have.
Although I suppose
that for those
who like nasty stuff hid,
subterranean,
unacknowledged,
un-dealt with
and
consequently, thriving
as if in the wild, this world
might seem
to be going to pieces, but to me,
you know? I don't like nasty stuff. I don't like
stuff that's vile. And you don't
have a hope squaring off against it,
unless you can get it dragged out
and lit, exposed. Only then
can you blast it clean, and track
where it goes, and fix up
what's hurt.
It's a process. It happens fast,
after ages of work.
The top layer
wears down, wearing slowly
right off
- and we find shocking wrongs!
that we knew, or at least we thought
had been there, all along. But soft -
Let's pretend we did not. Let's attack
and destroy, let's strike fear
into horrible hearts, oh boy
- at least, let us all give it a shot!
Now's the chance. Let's all rear up and roar!
Let's dance, shouting we'll take no more!
Saying this shall not stand!
Crying this is the worst
that it's been! Let's pretend
While we can, while we have
this exposé. Send
a clear message in, say: Outrage! We're
shocked! An excuse to win
the day, to make hay while it's hot, let's
use all of the units we've got
in play, do some real damage now,
to cowards
and brutes
and predators too,
who we pretty much
knew
all about.
But that's then. Let's find our outrage
now,
since they've dared to intrude
on the light, because we dragged them out.
Let's make damn sure their days are rued,
that they know they're screwed. And make all the people
to know: "This could be you, too."
Seize and drag, publicly by the heels
- well-chosen, with care! Seize and drag
each one,
who has always done,
as we've always known,
as we've always been very well aware.
They have done
what more decent folks have decried for years:
We Will Not Tolerate Such Behavior!
Well, that's sure clear. They had warning at least,
unanimously, even if it was lies. Let's make it
true.
For promises kept are but lies, long-deferred
and long-overdue. Down the centuries,
decades and years to this, let us now
keep our word,
for
this
world
is as good
as it usually is.
It gets better each year.
This is how it works, kids.
keep changing,
inexorably,
for the better? Have you noticed how
that happens?
I have.
Although I suppose
that for those
who like nasty stuff hid,
subterranean,
unacknowledged,
un-dealt with
and
consequently, thriving
as if in the wild, this world
might seem
to be going to pieces, but to me,
you know? I don't like nasty stuff. I don't like
stuff that's vile. And you don't
have a hope squaring off against it,
unless you can get it dragged out
and lit, exposed. Only then
can you blast it clean, and track
where it goes, and fix up
what's hurt.
It's a process. It happens fast,
after ages of work.
The top layer
wears down, wearing slowly
right off
- and we find shocking wrongs!
that we knew, or at least we thought
had been there, all along. But soft -
Let's pretend we did not. Let's attack
and destroy, let's strike fear
into horrible hearts, oh boy
- at least, let us all give it a shot!
Now's the chance. Let's all rear up and roar!
Let's dance, shouting we'll take no more!
Saying this shall not stand!
Crying this is the worst
that it's been! Let's pretend
While we can, while we have
this exposé. Send
a clear message in, say: Outrage! We're
shocked! An excuse to win
the day, to make hay while it's hot, let's
use all of the units we've got
in play, do some real damage now,
to cowards
and brutes
and predators too,
who we pretty much
knew
all about.
But that's then. Let's find our outrage
now,
since they've dared to intrude
on the light, because we dragged them out.
Let's make damn sure their days are rued,
that they know they're screwed. And make all the people
to know: "This could be you, too."
Seize and drag, publicly by the heels
- well-chosen, with care! Seize and drag
each one,
who has always done,
as we've always known,
as we've always been very well aware.
They have done
what more decent folks have decried for years:
We Will Not Tolerate Such Behavior!
Well, that's sure clear. They had warning at least,
unanimously, even if it was lies. Let's make it
true.
For promises kept are but lies, long-deferred
and long-overdue. Down the centuries,
decades and years to this, let us now
keep our word,
for
this
world
is as good
as it usually is.
It gets better each year.
This is how it works, kids.
closer to you
this is harder for you
than you think
'cause you know I'm a jerk,
but you don't
and you're going to leave,
but you don't
'cause you want to believe,
but you don't.
'cause I'm closer to you than you are. Don't you think I know?
And I love you more than you do. Don't you think?
I know
And you never repeat
your mistakes
so you're giving me one
final chance
and you won't be repeating
yourself
won't you tell me again,
how you won't?
'cause I'm closer to you than you are. Don't you think I know?
And I love you more than you do. Don't you think?
I know
than you think
'cause you know I'm a jerk,
but you don't
and you're going to leave,
but you don't
'cause you want to believe,
but you don't.
'cause I'm closer to you than you are. Don't you think I know?
And I love you more than you do. Don't you think?
I know
And you never repeat
your mistakes
so you're giving me one
final chance
and you won't be repeating
yourself
won't you tell me again,
how you won't?
'cause I'm closer to you than you are. Don't you think I know?
And I love you more than you do. Don't you think?
I know
barrels
I'm scraping the ground
the barrel is on
'cause I've already gone
through the bottom. It's done
no good,
but at least
there's a few
further feet, here
to fathom.
Inspiration
is like a tick on a deer,
or a Lyme spirochete -
no symptoms, all clear
the barrel is on
'cause I've already gone
through the bottom. It's done
no good,
but at least
there's a few
further feet, here
to fathom.
Inspiration
is like a tick on a deer,
or a Lyme spirochete -
no symptoms, all clear
service and results guaranteed to occur
first thing you have to do is take
a number,
divide by two, and that
is precisely how long you are going to wait. Provided
you understand, we can't tell
you whether it's minutes, or hours
or days, or something a bit more exotic in time,
these units can be so
particular. Just you do the math,
you'll be ready. It's fine that you'll have
much occasion to look forward to, never knowing
which one will deliver you. Periodically, you
can plot out the next
and the one after that,
and you'll make your guess,
and you'll have your hope, knowing certain
and sure
that your moment is on the way, guaranteed
never knowing which one will
set you free.
a number,
divide by two, and that
is precisely how long you are going to wait. Provided
you understand, we can't tell
you whether it's minutes, or hours
or days, or something a bit more exotic in time,
these units can be so
particular. Just you do the math,
you'll be ready. It's fine that you'll have
much occasion to look forward to, never knowing
which one will deliver you. Periodically, you
can plot out the next
and the one after that,
and you'll make your guess,
and you'll have your hope, knowing certain
and sure
that your moment is on the way, guaranteed
never knowing which one will
set you free.
the altruist
My name is mr. tentacle, I represent
the botherhood. And it gives me a charge
to do
some good, oh, anywhere I get
the chance
to extrude an appendage
or two, to stroke
or grope on whoever's
behalf - on you,
my pet.
It's what you are for, and
what I'm for as well. You see,
I am only one part of what
surrounds. Together, we swell
to create in your mind
an environment full
of certainty, of our mankind,
we are keeping you clear
on your purposes.
I keep you in states
of knowing full well
what you're really for,
in all of this, in this
world of ours. And I act
on behalf
not of only myself, but
of all other men - who are maybe, too timid,
or some of them, to do what is called
in pursuit of this. I
understand. I will gladly do
my part
for any and all of them.
I will do my part. I will take it in hand,
if fondling any and all of
yours, anywhere
you stray, you go, you know
you have been, I will help
you know. You're surrounded
by this, my dear. It's not
a conspiracy, no this
is a trust. We have ways
to make clear. Let's
play. Are you game?
Will you make a fuss?
Will you make a
scene? It's a thrill, to think so. You
might,
but I don't think
you will. You know
how humiliated
you will be, by calling
all of those
other eyes
to see
what I've casually done, so free
with you. Surprise
You are making such dreams
come true
for the greater good. For a world
that makes sense. For we all have a purpose
and part to play, and all the fun parts
are assuredly yours.
Would you have it
another way?
the botherhood. And it gives me a charge
to do
some good, oh, anywhere I get
the chance
to extrude an appendage
or two, to stroke
or grope on whoever's
behalf - on you,
my pet.
It's what you are for, and
what I'm for as well. You see,
I am only one part of what
surrounds. Together, we swell
to create in your mind
an environment full
of certainty, of our mankind,
we are keeping you clear
on your purposes.
I keep you in states
of knowing full well
what you're really for,
in all of this, in this
world of ours. And I act
on behalf
not of only myself, but
of all other men - who are maybe, too timid,
or some of them, to do what is called
in pursuit of this. I
understand. I will gladly do
my part
for any and all of them.
I will do my part. I will take it in hand,
if fondling any and all of
yours, anywhere
you stray, you go, you know
you have been, I will help
you know. You're surrounded
by this, my dear. It's not
a conspiracy, no this
is a trust. We have ways
to make clear. Let's
play. Are you game?
Will you make a fuss?
Will you make a
scene? It's a thrill, to think so. You
might,
but I don't think
you will. You know
how humiliated
you will be, by calling
all of those
other eyes
to see
what I've casually done, so free
with you. Surprise
You are making such dreams
come true
for the greater good. For a world
that makes sense. For we all have a purpose
and part to play, and all the fun parts
are assuredly yours.
Would you have it
another way?
constellation says hey
The constellation
rides overhead. A friendly guy
on a thing like a horse, made of
nuclear furnaces, trailing between
them imagined lines. And we'd like to think
he is waving at us. Okay, maybe
he is. Maybe the stars
have aligned, all turned
towards Earth, to present to us
a pantomime. All on course to gift us
with their influence, in order of birth.
What blessings rain down from these beings
whose trace we have always drawn.
When the sun is amidst
this or that group of stars, (who don't even know
the sun
from Eve, so distant from anyone
they are), we call it an Age, but
it's hard to believe
that they'll ever see,
or know their place
in a sky that's so far
from where they live.
Those fucking stars
that make up a face - they don't even KNOW
each other! It's just
from one vantage point - and
of course, it's ours - that they
even scarcely resemble parades
of crooked farm animals, grotesque
celestial implements ranked in arrays. However
it looks from where they're from, with
the separate parts of their bodies outflung
and in foreign arrangements, their joints
and limbs
unstrung
in a mess making mannequins
we will never dress up, or name,
or plot out. We've always preferred
our view, somehow.
But from some other star, there's a whole new gang
that rides sprawling crossing those skies, chasing one
little point of light,
dimly off to the side,
where we hang.
rides overhead. A friendly guy
on a thing like a horse, made of
nuclear furnaces, trailing between
them imagined lines. And we'd like to think
he is waving at us. Okay, maybe
he is. Maybe the stars
have aligned, all turned
towards Earth, to present to us
a pantomime. All on course to gift us
with their influence, in order of birth.
What blessings rain down from these beings
whose trace we have always drawn.
When the sun is amidst
this or that group of stars, (who don't even know
the sun
from Eve, so distant from anyone
they are), we call it an Age, but
it's hard to believe
that they'll ever see,
or know their place
in a sky that's so far
from where they live.
Those fucking stars
that make up a face - they don't even KNOW
each other! It's just
from one vantage point - and
of course, it's ours - that they
even scarcely resemble parades
of crooked farm animals, grotesque
celestial implements ranked in arrays. However
it looks from where they're from, with
the separate parts of their bodies outflung
and in foreign arrangements, their joints
and limbs
unstrung
in a mess making mannequins
we will never dress up, or name,
or plot out. We've always preferred
our view, somehow.
But from some other star, there's a whole new gang
that rides sprawling crossing those skies, chasing one
little point of light,
dimly off to the side,
where we hang.
"zaftig"
zaftig
is
quite
a beautiful word,
for what it means,
and i think
we need
more of these.
But
even more,
we need
a sense of beauty
that comes from human beings,
not magazines
is
quite
a beautiful word,
for what it means,
and i think
we need
more of these.
But
even more,
we need
a sense of beauty
that comes from human beings,
not magazines
handily
Handy with just about anything,
in whatever situation, with
confidence to just step in -
I've always been,
considered as such.
And you know what? I've never been
even slightly
good at it.
Things break,
I prop them up, I step in
ready with duct tape and spit,
because they asked, and
- I don't know why!
I just hope they enjoy the results
of it.
in whatever situation, with
confidence to just step in -
I've always been,
considered as such.
And you know what? I've never been
even slightly
good at it.
Things break,
I prop them up, I step in
ready with duct tape and spit,
because they asked, and
- I don't know why!
I just hope they enjoy the results
of it.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
of anything
The world is not made up of anything
it's coloured lights and homophones
and understandings, all alone
at bottomless depths of personal wells,
and you can accept the metaphors
and let the walls close in, for sure
but just enough
that you could brace
yourself
between and climb that way,
all the way up, but
when you got
to very top, and felt
the open air stir in, and even see
a tease of stars -
as one
of them falls! Before your eyes,
you would gasp and strive
and climb, those last few yards
with aching joints and burning limbs,
and suffering, bracing hard with broken nails
on nerveless hands, you'd wedge and hoist
yourself so far, so endlessly near,
the last six feet
in agonizing push and helpless pull,
against defeat, and pull
and pull your body up
and out, and
over
the stony, unforgiving rim
to find
the world
is not made up of anything,
the world
the world is not
made up
Take deep breaths now, and squeeze
and cry your eyelids shut
and count to ten, or any number
that feels
good, that reassures
your sense of when. And let
your fingers, reach and touch. Then
open eyes, and figure out
just where you really are, and why
it hurts so much
it's coloured lights and homophones
and understandings, all alone
at bottomless depths of personal wells,
and you can accept the metaphors
and let the walls close in, for sure
but just enough
that you could brace
yourself
between and climb that way,
all the way up, but
when you got
to very top, and felt
the open air stir in, and even see
a tease of stars -
as one
of them falls! Before your eyes,
you would gasp and strive
and climb, those last few yards
with aching joints and burning limbs,
and suffering, bracing hard with broken nails
on nerveless hands, you'd wedge and hoist
yourself so far, so endlessly near,
the last six feet
in agonizing push and helpless pull,
against defeat, and pull
and pull your body up
and out, and
over
the stony, unforgiving rim
to find
the world
is not made up of anything,
the world
the world is not
made up
Take deep breaths now, and squeeze
and cry your eyelids shut
and count to ten, or any number
that feels
good, that reassures
your sense of when. And let
your fingers, reach and touch. Then
open eyes, and figure out
just where you really are, and why
it hurts so much
To sing this song.
Love is NOT BULL
SHIT. It's not! It's fucking
not. Love
is for real people. Love is for
real, people! Love is for real.
Love is
what makes your heart wonder stuff your head could care less
about. Love is what
makes you jump in front of a speeding plane, "Baby
don't go! We got to make a better ending
for this movie we're starred in, this
is depressing!" Don't do that. It's over, or
it would be. Act less pathological, maybe. Though love
can and do make you sick some time, I know. Love
is what could put you in a diabetic coma, metaphorically
so you better watch out except you can-not get enough
of the sweetness, regardless, when love
is the stuff
that makes you DO all shit like that, and end up
with a shucks-eating grin, lookin' like a fool
no regrets.
When you think about love, better be sitting down
because love can put you on your ASS. It's an epiphany
when that happens.
Love is the thing that goes bump bump bump in the night.
You know what I mean, on that. PEACE.
Love is also the thing that gives tender shushes, and
a perfect caress you didn't know how much you needed
'til just then that exact moment when. Oh,
sweet jeezy.
Love makes your tongue stick out,
or want to, anyhow! Depending
on context, and configurations. Love is the road
not taken, that makes you run all the way back to the fork and screech
around that corner, scattering yellow gold leaves
in your wake! Love
is a splendiddily thing, and love doesn't mind
all your diddling and dithering as you circle around it,
as long as you know
Love knows you're hooked.
And it's the sweetest sharpest piercing
barb with the strongest most unsnappable line
to reel you in, tested at
one hundred times the wait of you two
fish combined. And love, oh love
's got all the lines,
barbed and baited. Love's kind of shy,
too, you know, though. But Love
can't help it sometimes: it breaks out in a shout!
for all the world!
Hell yes!
Love don't mean a thing, except your whole life,
Love's not bullshit. Folks, it is
(love is)
the real deal. Love, to be clear
makes people smooth back their hair from their brow, to see
what's right in front of you, sometimes. Love, sometimes
makes somebody want to grab an ass
they have been told they're perfectly entitled to
grab any time and place, and with that permission
comes scant if any loss of the thrill
involved! In fact, it might
more than double the thrill, because
how can you not but spend your time
thinking about that permission, all day? All
day for days of what you've got, perfect
and as-far-as-we-both-wish-to-know-permanent
permission for: this, to love you. Oh,
wow. Love
is like shooting fish in a barrel
with a water pistol. Just that easy,
and are you gonna have to ask anyone how? Nope. Love
is also like riding your bike off a log: you
could never learn to forget
a thing like that.
Yet to get to it, and to get it, to win it and then
miss it, lose, slip, break-crack SNAP woosh
gone! and to feel the lack
can be
the hardest things you've ever, will ever have
to go through, in sequence
with your eyes wide-open in slow-motion the better to savor
the fatality of this
crash -
and to live in consequence.
to learn to endure
or to be at peace with. No, life
without love, cannot be peace; it must be war
or else:
hell.
They say it's the same thing, and I
will not war
upon them
for saying that.
Love's the most impressive force on earth. A love song
sweeps all other songs aside. A love song
tells you what you want to hear.
That's why I'm here.
To sing this song
SHIT. It's not! It's fucking
not. Love
is for real people. Love is for
real, people! Love is for real.
Love is
what makes your heart wonder stuff your head could care less
about. Love is what
makes you jump in front of a speeding plane, "Baby
don't go! We got to make a better ending
for this movie we're starred in, this
is depressing!" Don't do that. It's over, or
it would be. Act less pathological, maybe. Though love
can and do make you sick some time, I know. Love
is what could put you in a diabetic coma, metaphorically
so you better watch out except you can-not get enough
of the sweetness, regardless, when love
is the stuff
that makes you DO all shit like that, and end up
with a shucks-eating grin, lookin' like a fool
no regrets.
When you think about love, better be sitting down
because love can put you on your ASS. It's an epiphany
when that happens.
Love is the thing that goes bump bump bump in the night.
You know what I mean, on that. PEACE.
Love is also the thing that gives tender shushes, and
a perfect caress you didn't know how much you needed
'til just then that exact moment when. Oh,
sweet jeezy.
Love makes your tongue stick out,
or want to, anyhow! Depending
on context, and configurations. Love is the road
not taken, that makes you run all the way back to the fork and screech
around that corner, scattering yellow gold leaves
in your wake! Love
is a splendiddily thing, and love doesn't mind
all your diddling and dithering as you circle around it,
as long as you know
Love knows you're hooked.
And it's the sweetest sharpest piercing
barb with the strongest most unsnappable line
to reel you in, tested at
one hundred times the wait of you two
fish combined. And love, oh love
's got all the lines,
barbed and baited. Love's kind of shy,
too, you know, though. But Love
can't help it sometimes: it breaks out in a shout!
for all the world!
Hell yes!
Love don't mean a thing, except your whole life,
Love's not bullshit. Folks, it is
(love is)
the real deal. Love, to be clear
makes people smooth back their hair from their brow, to see
what's right in front of you, sometimes. Love, sometimes
makes somebody want to grab an ass
they have been told they're perfectly entitled to
grab any time and place, and with that permission
comes scant if any loss of the thrill
involved! In fact, it might
more than double the thrill, because
how can you not but spend your time
thinking about that permission, all day? All
day for days of what you've got, perfect
and as-far-as-we-both-wish-to-know-permanent
permission for: this, to love you. Oh,
wow. Love
is like shooting fish in a barrel
with a water pistol. Just that easy,
and are you gonna have to ask anyone how? Nope. Love
is also like riding your bike off a log: you
could never learn to forget
a thing like that.
Yet to get to it, and to get it, to win it and then
miss it, lose, slip, break-crack SNAP woosh
gone! and to feel the lack
can be
the hardest things you've ever, will ever have
to go through, in sequence
with your eyes wide-open in slow-motion the better to savor
the fatality of this
crash -
and to live in consequence.
to learn to endure
or to be at peace with. No, life
without love, cannot be peace; it must be war
or else:
hell.
They say it's the same thing, and I
will not war
upon them
for saying that.
Love's the most impressive force on earth. A love song
sweeps all other songs aside. A love song
tells you what you want to hear.
That's why I'm here.
To sing this song
explaining the late silence
So you know
I'm not ignoring you
I think about you all the time
I find myself in places we
both liked to go, and doing things
I look quite silly doing by myself,
or trying to, and
you know what? I think of you.
I think of you quite often,
without meaning
it, or wanting
to. I'll look up, see
what I have done, and say
is this a monument?
A testament! But no, it's not.
I don't quite think that fits. I didn't
think at all,
when I was doing it. I just forgot
you weren't there, standing back
and taking in my turn.
When your turn came,
I turned and you were gone.
I think
I think of you because
I don't consider what
I'm thinking of.
I'm really not aware,
until
the curtain splits, within my brain and I
am standing there on stage, enacting
some bizarre tableau. I'm not
ignoring you,
you know
I'm not ignoring you
I think about you all the time
I find myself in places we
both liked to go, and doing things
I look quite silly doing by myself,
or trying to, and
you know what? I think of you.
I think of you quite often,
without meaning
it, or wanting
to. I'll look up, see
what I have done, and say
is this a monument?
A testament! But no, it's not.
I don't quite think that fits. I didn't
think at all,
when I was doing it. I just forgot
you weren't there, standing back
and taking in my turn.
When your turn came,
I turned and you were gone.
I think
I think of you because
I don't consider what
I'm thinking of.
I'm really not aware,
until
the curtain splits, within my brain and I
am standing there on stage, enacting
some bizarre tableau. I'm not
ignoring you,
you know
Even as we speak
Even as we speak,
a child is being beaten, and
across a certain distance,
a man is being shot and killed, and
a woman's screeching
not quite to
a halt,
sliding sideways
as huge headlights speed their widening jaws
to fill the glass, crash down and
devour more than half
her life,
And you and I
talk on of life,
how beautiful it is and was,
or sad, how lovely it could be?
It all depends, so much
on us
a child is being beaten, and
across a certain distance,
a man is being shot and killed, and
a woman's screeching
not quite to
a halt,
sliding sideways
as huge headlights speed their widening jaws
to fill the glass, crash down and
devour more than half
her life,
And you and I
talk on of life,
how beautiful it is and was,
or sad, how lovely it could be?
It all depends, so much
on us
Dangerous loves
Bold explorer Elven Grimme
treks far North, every wintry clime
to find the pod of polar bears
that he's befriended every time
you have to re-befriend those bears
oh, they remember Elven well, but
it's a thing of dignity, to do with
fish, respect, and smell
He always wears the selfsame furs
He always smells the selfsame way
They haven't killed and eaten him.
He's totally sane, his colleagues say
Despite the fact that polar bears
are deadly as a bear can be - he loves
when they come in, up close
and snoot him with their noses
SQUEE!
treks far North, every wintry clime
to find the pod of polar bears
that he's befriended every time
you have to re-befriend those bears
oh, they remember Elven well, but
it's a thing of dignity, to do with
fish, respect, and smell
He always wears the selfsame furs
He always smells the selfsame way
They haven't killed and eaten him.
He's totally sane, his colleagues say
Despite the fact that polar bears
are deadly as a bear can be - he loves
when they come in, up close
and snoot him with their noses
SQUEE!
So, Pepe Le Pui...
So, leaving aside that Pepe Le Pui
is just a horrible skunk for chasing cats
- which is totally unnatural, although
I suppose if the cat were into it,
we'd all be in favor of Wild Kingdom
coverage, make it a series even, but the point
- or one point - is that interspecies bestiality is
hardly a problem, except
between porpoises and dolphins, possibly,
where consent is also a major concern
(or to be more specific: the lack thereof),
and usually this ends up a case
where nonconsensual sex
is definitely about murder, and reduction of competitors
for the same delicious fish - but still, brutal?
For all I know,
there are probably instances of this
in the primate kingdom. Family, class - whatever.
It's not a kingdom, which
is beside the point:
it's good to be king.
Skunks don't chase cats, but whatever, this guy
does. That's not our problem with him.
The problem we have with this guy is,
he is what they used to call in those days
"a masher." This was sort of a real "cute term"
for I don't know,
a platonic rapist? Someone who would
nonconsensually grab women and
wrestle with them, in
a sexually-suggestive fashion? Now to me frankly,
I'm glad we retired the term because "masher," you know,
fuck off. There's nothing wrong with calling it "sexual
assault," which it is. And was, and here comes
Pepe, confused by a stripe of paint whose bouquet
surely he's not REALLY mistaking for the ripe musk
of a female of his own species? Paint, folks
doesn't smell like skunk, folks, if it did
we'd be considerably less consternated when one of our dogs
got in the paint. Or
when we accidentally did the whole outside of the house
in skunk. And don't tell me
skunks only stink
when they spray! Check out Pepe's tail, for gosh sakes
- you can
SEE THE STINK,
radiating off it in waves!
but the point is, here I am
Telling you to check out Pepe's tail.
This is an instance of situational irony.
The second point is: whataboutism. Everybody's all up in Pepe's tail
vilifying the guy.
And they're right. He deserves to be. Even if he were targeting
his own species. Because he speaks English. So clearly,
- language-user, advanced sentience - he can't claim the right of animals
to amorality in the single-mindless pursuit of amorous conjunction
in complete disregard of consent, even if he spoke French.
Unacceptable. They should be
vilifying him.
But it's chilling
to see Wile E. and Sylvester to the side,
right in the thick of the lynch mob,
nervously cheering
is just a horrible skunk for chasing cats
- which is totally unnatural, although
I suppose if the cat were into it,
we'd all be in favor of Wild Kingdom
coverage, make it a series even, but the point
- or one point - is that interspecies bestiality is
hardly a problem, except
between porpoises and dolphins, possibly,
where consent is also a major concern
(or to be more specific: the lack thereof),
and usually this ends up a case
where nonconsensual sex
is definitely about murder, and reduction of competitors
for the same delicious fish - but still, brutal?
For all I know,
there are probably instances of this
in the primate kingdom. Family, class - whatever.
It's not a kingdom, which
is beside the point:
it's good to be king.
Skunks don't chase cats, but whatever, this guy
does. That's not our problem with him.
The problem we have with this guy is,
he is what they used to call in those days
"a masher." This was sort of a real "cute term"
for I don't know,
a platonic rapist? Someone who would
nonconsensually grab women and
wrestle with them, in
a sexually-suggestive fashion? Now to me frankly,
I'm glad we retired the term because "masher," you know,
fuck off. There's nothing wrong with calling it "sexual
assault," which it is. And was, and here comes
Pepe, confused by a stripe of paint whose bouquet
surely he's not REALLY mistaking for the ripe musk
of a female of his own species? Paint, folks
doesn't smell like skunk, folks, if it did
we'd be considerably less consternated when one of our dogs
got in the paint. Or
when we accidentally did the whole outside of the house
in skunk. And don't tell me
skunks only stink
when they spray! Check out Pepe's tail, for gosh sakes
- you can
SEE THE STINK,
radiating off it in waves!
but the point is, here I am
Telling you to check out Pepe's tail.
This is an instance of situational irony.
The second point is: whataboutism. Everybody's all up in Pepe's tail
vilifying the guy.
And they're right. He deserves to be. Even if he were targeting
his own species. Because he speaks English. So clearly,
- language-user, advanced sentience - he can't claim the right of animals
to amorality in the single-mindless pursuit of amorous conjunction
in complete disregard of consent, even if he spoke French.
Unacceptable. They should be
vilifying him.
But it's chilling
to see Wile E. and Sylvester to the side,
right in the thick of the lynch mob,
nervously cheering
gossip critic
famous actor and his real-life wife
have split again, in a seemingly
scripted development by M. Night
Shyamalan, no - I wasn't surprised.
I foresaw the twist, but I wouldn't
bat an eye
if they could get through this,
they could make themselves a movie on tumultuous,
and then split
the profits with their therapist.
have split again, in a seemingly
scripted development by M. Night
Shyamalan, no - I wasn't surprised.
I foresaw the twist, but I wouldn't
bat an eye
if they could get through this,
they could make themselves a movie on tumultuous,
and then split
the profits with their therapist.
jerk-worms and coyotes
These jerks and worms
who act like the things we do or say
are governed by rules
that apply to us all,
and can be known -
they keep going on and on
about not knowing what
they can and can't say anymore.
Because "the rules have changed,"
well, jerk, or worm, no
they haven't. The rules are not.
And they have always not been.
The only rule is: you
are responsible
to know who it is you are talking to,
and what they will want, or welcome from you.
Everything you say, you know that it's cool, or
you're taking a chance. A deliberate risk. Own
it.
Because every damn time you make a mistake,
and you say or you do something they sure hate
- it is you who is wrong.
It was you who presumed. You who guessed badly
that you knew them that well. Enough to believe
they would take it well, and so you risked saying
whatever it was
that you fucked up with. Well, that risk
was yours. Wasn't it?
Do you crawl back into your shell, jerk-worm?
Or claim it's their fault, that you didn't know them?
As well as you thought or were sure you did then.
Shall you never make leaps or take risks again?
Shall you blame them for being unfair, or incensed,
or hyperinsensitive, or something? Or complain
that there aren't any rules for you, you can go by
to know what you can and can't do
with everyone??? So as long as you stick
between those clear lines, any time they get mad -
they're the one wrong?
Only a jerk-worm wants something like that. Wants to make
someone else
at fault
for their own guess, and decision, and act.
Yes: keep trying to know a person. Keep testing and learning,
keep growing in trust, and keep making leaps. Just -
when you leap wrong?
Fall to that Wile E. Coyote death
with some dignity
Fall all the way down, and hit the ground hard,
and make a huge cloud of dust,
and drag yourself up, and
go back to the board.
And for God's sake don't feel
you need to emulate Wile E. Coyote
in other respects, but damn
dude could take a fall
like he won an award
who act like the things we do or say
are governed by rules
that apply to us all,
and can be known -
they keep going on and on
about not knowing what
they can and can't say anymore.
Because "the rules have changed,"
well, jerk, or worm, no
they haven't. The rules are not.
And they have always not been.
The only rule is: you
are responsible
to know who it is you are talking to,
and what they will want, or welcome from you.
Everything you say, you know that it's cool, or
you're taking a chance. A deliberate risk. Own
it.
Because every damn time you make a mistake,
and you say or you do something they sure hate
- it is you who is wrong.
It was you who presumed. You who guessed badly
that you knew them that well. Enough to believe
they would take it well, and so you risked saying
whatever it was
that you fucked up with. Well, that risk
was yours. Wasn't it?
Do you crawl back into your shell, jerk-worm?
Or claim it's their fault, that you didn't know them?
As well as you thought or were sure you did then.
Shall you never make leaps or take risks again?
Shall you blame them for being unfair, or incensed,
or hyperinsensitive, or something? Or complain
that there aren't any rules for you, you can go by
to know what you can and can't do
with everyone??? So as long as you stick
between those clear lines, any time they get mad -
they're the one wrong?
Only a jerk-worm wants something like that. Wants to make
someone else
at fault
for their own guess, and decision, and act.
Yes: keep trying to know a person. Keep testing and learning,
keep growing in trust, and keep making leaps. Just -
when you leap wrong?
Fall to that Wile E. Coyote death
with some dignity
Fall all the way down, and hit the ground hard,
and make a huge cloud of dust,
and drag yourself up, and
go back to the board.
And for God's sake don't feel
you need to emulate Wile E. Coyote
in other respects, but damn
dude could take a fall
like he won an award
Con Artist
In comfortable kicks,
She paints the world
- a performance art,
in a series of steps
she has patented
up airport concourse,
on a plane, and off
to wherever she's led
into foreign, domestic,
locales and scrapes
by killer instinct
so inscrutable, slow
- it will draw her on steady,
inexorable. Lulling her to a sense
of comfort in things never seen
before.
Wherever she treads
in her canvas tennies
through many
a way,
and past plenty
a fool,
she paints the world:
adding colour to it, that only
she knew.
She paints the world
- a performance art,
in a series of steps
she has patented
up airport concourse,
on a plane, and off
to wherever she's led
into foreign, domestic,
locales and scrapes
by killer instinct
so inscrutable, slow
- it will draw her on steady,
inexorable. Lulling her to a sense
of comfort in things never seen
before.
Wherever she treads
in her canvas tennies
through many
a way,
and past plenty
a fool,
she paints the world:
adding colour to it, that only
she knew.
S T O R M HA M M O C K
I will weather this storm,
through a steady gale
as I clutch to the rigging
white-knuckled and raw,
hung swung between masts
of massive tree-trunks,
with a drink and a book
and I will not fall.
And I will not flee. I looked forward to this
all week, all month - hell I always am
looking forward to hammock time. I will not
retreat, give way, give up or give in.
Blow rain, blow wet! My drink is strong
You can water it down, it will taste
just fine. Though my book, probably
was a poorer choice. A gift from a friend, and
a favorite of mine.
through a steady gale
as I clutch to the rigging
white-knuckled and raw,
hung swung between masts
of massive tree-trunks,
with a drink and a book
and I will not fall.
And I will not flee. I looked forward to this
all week, all month - hell I always am
looking forward to hammock time. I will not
retreat, give way, give up or give in.
Blow rain, blow wet! My drink is strong
You can water it down, it will taste
just fine. Though my book, probably
was a poorer choice. A gift from a friend, and
a favorite of mine.
"Laid Back Legs"
From all the way back,
the angle rests
and you're comfortably
perched on a chair on a deck, on a
balcony, somewhere or stretched at your ease
in a hammock, you've swayed to a lull
in the breeze through the trees, in peace.
You can see all the way
to the view, which - amazing,
wherever you go! I could look for hours,
and never get there. You'll place yourself
perfect and take one
to show
how fantastic it gets -
past your low-top Chucks,
ever-changing their hue
- and the picture is framed
and composed
so professionally,
like an artist who knows
how to win most bets.
the angle rests
and you're comfortably
perched on a chair on a deck, on a
balcony, somewhere or stretched at your ease
in a hammock, you've swayed to a lull
in the breeze through the trees, in peace.
You can see all the way
to the view, which - amazing,
wherever you go! I could look for hours,
and never get there. You'll place yourself
perfect and take one
to show
how fantastic it gets -
past your low-top Chucks,
ever-changing their hue
- and the picture is framed
and composed
so professionally,
like an artist who knows
how to win most bets.
careful what
Lie to me, you said
a challenge
wow, that's easy. I always do
lie to you. I say things that
are enjoyable for me
to say, enjoyable even to believe,
but always
knowing in some part, back of the mind, ha
ha, that isn't me! not for me -
it's for you of course.
But I find, I always do lie,
to everyone I ever talk to, but
it's special with you. I really
do care
What you think
of what I have to say.
So there - shall I lie to you?
It is easy to do.
You can always tell, any time I tell you
You know I never tell you
the truth.
I never did, I never do
I tell you once, like I'll tell you again
don't believe a word I say, my friend
shall I lie to you again?
a challenge
wow, that's easy. I always do
lie to you. I say things that
are enjoyable for me
to say, enjoyable even to believe,
but always
knowing in some part, back of the mind, ha
ha, that isn't me! not for me -
it's for you of course.
But I find, I always do lie,
to everyone I ever talk to, but
it's special with you. I really
do care
What you think
of what I have to say.
So there - shall I lie to you?
It is easy to do.
You can always tell, any time I tell you
You know I never tell you
the truth.
I never did, I never do
I tell you once, like I'll tell you again
don't believe a word I say, my friend
shall I lie to you again?
low resolution
I thought you sent me dirty pictures,
really
it was just
I had a dirty
phone. I wiped it off
with static-free cloth, and
sure enough! You'd sent me
nothing of the sort.
Thank goodness! Or
thank a sense of personal
responsibility - thank
boundaries! Thank
who or whatever
personification of virtue is
to blame for this momentary
lapse or lack thereof
and by the way,
nice shorts!
really
it was just
I had a dirty
phone. I wiped it off
with static-free cloth, and
sure enough! You'd sent me
nothing of the sort.
Thank goodness! Or
thank a sense of personal
responsibility - thank
boundaries! Thank
who or whatever
personification of virtue is
to blame for this momentary
lapse or lack thereof
and by the way,
nice shorts!
pressure point
There's nothing much to say,
sometimes, so
make something up,
god damn it
make something up,
to talk about
there's a chance any thing
that you could make up, could catch
on and lead on
and on, and
on, to something great, or
into and through, and
anyway - what
does it matter
what you pick to talk about? It's not topics
of interest that interest you,
but what somebody thinks
of anything, of any
thing, just about
anything would do
no! Stop! That was small talk,
that's going to be a sign
that you're trying to draw
this talk to a close. Quick!
Say something grand, or
at least grandiose
sometimes, so
make something up,
god damn it
make something up,
to talk about
there's a chance any thing
that you could make up, could catch
on and lead on
and on, and
on, to something great, or
into and through, and
anyway - what
does it matter
what you pick to talk about? It's not topics
of interest that interest you,
but what somebody thinks
of anything, of any
thing, just about
anything would do
no! Stop! That was small talk,
that's going to be a sign
that you're trying to draw
this talk to a close. Quick!
Say something grand, or
at least grandiose
Sunday, November 12, 2017
if we ever uh-oh
if we ever
get to the point where we enjoy each other's attempted
adorable too readily and uncritically, and reciprocate
with our own attempted adorable, and if this is in turn
reciprocated, we could quickly become sickening
.
however
the risk of this
admittedly
seems vanishingly
happy
get to the point where we enjoy each other's attempted
adorable too readily and uncritically, and reciprocate
with our own attempted adorable, and if this is in turn
reciprocated, we could quickly become sickening
.
however
the risk of this
admittedly
seems vanishingly
happy
the seduction
If I could seduce you,
I wouldn't. It
would take all the fun out of it
for it to be hypothetical,
and such a sure thing -
all I'd have to do is say yes,
and I'm in? Or I win? As if
that's how you want things
to go. If I could seduce you,
I wouldn't
know. If I really could,
I'd use some
other word.
And then I'd
say yes. Of course
I would! And then
you'd laugh.
So absurd
I wouldn't. It
would take all the fun out of it
for it to be hypothetical,
and such a sure thing -
all I'd have to do is say yes,
and I'm in? Or I win? As if
that's how you want things
to go. If I could seduce you,
I wouldn't
know. If I really could,
I'd use some
other word.
And then I'd
say yes. Of course
I would! And then
you'd laugh.
So absurd
Unamazeable
You're amazing. As amazing as a person can be
without ever being amazed.
And I wish I could take
the shape you make
In the air, from here
play it back to you
through a lens of defenseless
and amazed eyes. Let you see
what the signal really looks like. You'd
be like "hey, that's nice!
I guess"
unimpressed, and then look to me,
eyes wondering, was that what
I was trying to show you? Yes.
What's next
without ever being amazed.
And I wish I could take
the shape you make
In the air, from here
play it back to you
through a lens of defenseless
and amazed eyes. Let you see
what the signal really looks like. You'd
be like "hey, that's nice!
I guess"
unimpressed, and then look to me,
eyes wondering, was that what
I was trying to show you? Yes.
What's next
Those who would give up
Those who would give up
a little essential liberty
for huge, temporary freedom
deserve neither essential,
nor temporary. It is
Each of us,
Individual,
Inalienably
alienated and in that,
Indivisible -
In a Country under all-too-mighty and invisible God,
What in Hell are these people
taking us to
in a handbasket, yet?
Where do they get off?
Wait. Have they already?
I think I missed my stop
Who are they to tell us
Right and Wrong?
I would like to ask them. Each
And
every
one
a little essential liberty
for huge, temporary freedom
deserve neither essential,
nor temporary. It is
Each of us,
Individual,
Inalienably
alienated and in that,
Indivisible -
In a Country under all-too-mighty and invisible God,
What in Hell are these people
taking us to
in a handbasket, yet?
Where do they get off?
Wait. Have they already?
I think I missed my stop
Who are they to tell us
Right and Wrong?
I would like to ask them. Each
And
every
one
I wish you'd try
We can and do talk
about anything. Every now and then,
we cross some kind
of line, and it's
awkward, then.
And wonderful, like I'm learning
the first and best lessons of life
after all of our learned and wise
explorations, always so perfectly
at our ease.
Which is wonderful, too! As we know
ourselves. But finding myself
where we're both at a loss,
and muddling through, and so
finding you - it feels natural, it feels
so pretty please,
so easy to do, not so comfortable -
as if nature were ours, and okay
to be lost. As if awkwardness was
the epiphany state
where everything feels
like you don't know the way
because you've found the place
of ways opening, where
our ignorance can't get enough
of new truths
in adjusting to bliss, and finding
bliss is a thing we can use.
And then we unglow, as happy
as two would expect. And shift
to sure ground, and find
it's still there. We know
that no damage is done. We talk
far too well, I mean
you the world, and you mean
me no wrong. And we can and we do
talk about anything. We can go
anywhere
with our words, and
remain. We go upward and outward,
and inward and through,
as forward we fly. More and more,
I want to go awkward. I wish
we would try.
about anything. Every now and then,
we cross some kind
of line, and it's
awkward, then.
And wonderful, like I'm learning
the first and best lessons of life
after all of our learned and wise
explorations, always so perfectly
at our ease.
Which is wonderful, too! As we know
ourselves. But finding myself
where we're both at a loss,
and muddling through, and so
finding you - it feels natural, it feels
so pretty please,
so easy to do, not so comfortable -
as if nature were ours, and okay
to be lost. As if awkwardness was
the epiphany state
where everything feels
like you don't know the way
because you've found the place
of ways opening, where
our ignorance can't get enough
of new truths
in adjusting to bliss, and finding
bliss is a thing we can use.
And then we unglow, as happy
as two would expect. And shift
to sure ground, and find
it's still there. We know
that no damage is done. We talk
far too well, I mean
you the world, and you mean
me no wrong. And we can and we do
talk about anything. We can go
anywhere
with our words, and
remain. We go upward and outward,
and inward and through,
as forward we fly. More and more,
I want to go awkward. I wish
we would try.
Under Construction
Lady and gentleman,
if such should occur, it pleases me
to announce, again:
A rededication of purpose
or at least, content,
content in itself without
purpose. I send: to you,
if you will:
These poems. On average, one
for every day. A dog's breakfast
of near and accidental rhyme,
abstract pictures in concrete words,
well-meant puns, and retarded adolescent
grand romantic sexuality. I guess,
pretty much what you are free
to expect from me.
Excuse the mess
if such should occur, it pleases me
to announce, again:
A rededication of purpose
or at least, content,
content in itself without
purpose. I send: to you,
if you will:
These poems. On average, one
for every day. A dog's breakfast
of near and accidental rhyme,
abstract pictures in concrete words,
well-meant puns, and retarded adolescent
grand romantic sexuality. I guess,
pretty much what you are free
to expect from me.
Excuse the mess
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