You can’t tell the right from wrong
’Cause you don’t what truth you’re on
And I have found the mother-lode
But you can’t break the moral code
You could be an acolyte
Initiate your wrong from right
But there is only one way to -
You must reveal me all of you,
And wipe you clean of purity
Then give your empty mind to me
Just dump the junk you came in with -
The junk we’ve got is much more bliss
A recipe from ignorance
A dash or two of innocence
- for that refreshing citrus twist!
Yeah you can’t tell the right from wrong
’Cause you don’t know what truth you’re on
And I have found the mother-lode
But you can’t break the moral code
Friday, May 31, 2019
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Connection strong.
I like
to be
connected with
the world, but
really more "connected
to" is what
it is. A type
of window
turned on things.
Kaleidoscopes of view. It keeps
informed, and lets me share
what's on out there. I keep up
with
the people who
I once impressed, who
once or twice
or many times impressed me
um so deeply and
so much and well, that this
is how we keep
in touch. We keep
connection fresh.
Connection strong.
We volunteer a slice
a glimpse
and that's what's going on.
to be
connected with
the world, but
really more "connected
to" is what
it is. A type
of window
turned on things.
Kaleidoscopes of view. It keeps
informed, and lets me share
what's on out there. I keep up
with
the people who
I once impressed, who
once or twice
or many times impressed me
um so deeply and
so much and well, that this
is how we keep
in touch. We keep
connection fresh.
Connection strong.
We volunteer a slice
a glimpse
and that's what's going on.
interesting homes
May you live in interesting
homes, with shelves of books
around a hearth. A touch
unsafe, but homey though!
You're careful once the
fires start, and carefree
when you know they're out.
You're making up the bed
for sleep, and comfortable
looks between, and everything
such deep, familiar fond
and sharpish intimacies
can mean, or every place
they lead. You're making up
the bed like words, so soft
and even, tucked and neat
- then suddenly dove in
to splurge! Gave in
to urge. And out again
to linger in the wax
and wane of candlelight
and well-spent breath.
You're making up the bed
again.
You're making up the breakfast
nook, with doilies you could love
to death. You're making up
the chandelier - there isn't
one! Just made
it up! Imagination shines
so much more clear
in interesting homes. And may
you live in one. And may it be
your own. And perhaps mine?
At least, when I'm
around you make it so.
It's how it feels.
You make it up.
And even when I go, it feels
there are so many things
in there, to do - with oh!
Most anyone invited to,
I'd have to guess. But I
shall not.
Let's have a game. Let's have
a party - smallish, though. Not some
huge bash! Unless, let's have.
Let's have what's wanted
every day we want it back.
You're making up the favors,
now. In little bags of colored
cut, with handle strings and
tufts tucked in, diaphanous,
they cushion stuff.
You're making up the stage
for shows of sock puppets
and marionettes, in stage
magician capes and hats,
and ballet dress, and
slipperglass. The play goes
on with dialogue and tricks
all improvised: the moral
(at the end) is wise.
For we
have interested our selves
in living lives, and making up
a place for them. Right here.
it's funny how
we can.
homes, with shelves of books
around a hearth. A touch
unsafe, but homey though!
You're careful once the
fires start, and carefree
when you know they're out.
You're making up the bed
for sleep, and comfortable
looks between, and everything
such deep, familiar fond
and sharpish intimacies
can mean, or every place
they lead. You're making up
the bed like words, so soft
and even, tucked and neat
- then suddenly dove in
to splurge! Gave in
to urge. And out again
to linger in the wax
and wane of candlelight
and well-spent breath.
You're making up the bed
again.
You're making up the breakfast
nook, with doilies you could love
to death. You're making up
the chandelier - there isn't
one! Just made
it up! Imagination shines
so much more clear
in interesting homes. And may
you live in one. And may it be
your own. And perhaps mine?
At least, when I'm
around you make it so.
It's how it feels.
You make it up.
And even when I go, it feels
there are so many things
in there, to do - with oh!
Most anyone invited to,
I'd have to guess. But I
shall not.
Let's have a game. Let's have
a party - smallish, though. Not some
huge bash! Unless, let's have.
Let's have what's wanted
every day we want it back.
You're making up the favors,
now. In little bags of colored
cut, with handle strings and
tufts tucked in, diaphanous,
they cushion stuff.
You're making up the stage
for shows of sock puppets
and marionettes, in stage
magician capes and hats,
and ballet dress, and
slipperglass. The play goes
on with dialogue and tricks
all improvised: the moral
(at the end) is wise.
For we
have interested our selves
in living lives, and making up
a place for them. Right here.
it's funny how
we can.
Typical approach
Observantly, you stormed back
into the apartment you'd never seen
to confront the betrayer of your trust
in a mirror, and make it regret
it had ever been clean. Once inside,
you apologized to your hosts
who were out at the time
in the street, crying help
and police, and you left
them a thoughtful gift: on their
dining room table! A centerpiece
made of natural, healthy organic
things such as you love to eat
and to spread around. Out the back,
through the locked french doors,
you could see quite a sizable yard
- like the one you once had, and
it made you frown. How do I keep
losing so much good in my life?
Well, the answer to that
is - you know! Catching sight
of the vinyl collection and amped
surround-sound, you cranked it to max,
and slipped on Bryan Adams's
"Cuts Like A Knife"
as the moment wore into the floor,
the foundation, the ground.
into the apartment you'd never seen
to confront the betrayer of your trust
in a mirror, and make it regret
it had ever been clean. Once inside,
you apologized to your hosts
who were out at the time
in the street, crying help
and police, and you left
them a thoughtful gift: on their
dining room table! A centerpiece
made of natural, healthy organic
things such as you love to eat
and to spread around. Out the back,
through the locked french doors,
you could see quite a sizable yard
- like the one you once had, and
it made you frown. How do I keep
losing so much good in my life?
Well, the answer to that
is - you know! Catching sight
of the vinyl collection and amped
surround-sound, you cranked it to max,
and slipped on Bryan Adams's
"Cuts Like A Knife"
as the moment wore into the floor,
the foundation, the ground.
Welp,
How do I catch on
to the next thing everyone's going
to know, to dissect endlessly with
humor and pathos like Game of Thrones, except
not chasing after to catch up,
and jump on? I don't
need to be the first responder,
the earliest adopter, I just want
to be in
from the word go
or just after, then settle in
for the ride of one's life (or
a damn good distraction from,
anyhow), settle in
For years of cultural relevance
with my peers. Not as some big chore!
To investigate and eventually
figure out why
it's a big deal.
(HINT: it's because
everyone else thinks so! And
they spend a good portion of
their lives, talking about
their lives, using handy
touchstones like these
as shared reference.)
No I hate
that. Having to figure that
out from scratch. Why am I always
the one on the outside, sneering
piteously at "How could we possibly
be so into this? Is it THAT good? Do
YOU think so?" Oh yes
Oh man you have no idea YES
it is.
Welp,
I missed it
this time.
And from what I hear,
it turned out again about as rushed,
jumbled and wrong as usual. Lost
the plot in search of its significance,
confused the characters for a narrative
device and made mashed hash of pretensions
to meaning or endless, timeless heft.
But next time I bet it's better, and
how do I catch on? I've never been
involved in one of these. Seems
fun!
to the next thing everyone's going
to know, to dissect endlessly with
humor and pathos like Game of Thrones, except
not chasing after to catch up,
and jump on? I don't
need to be the first responder,
the earliest adopter, I just want
to be in
from the word go
or just after, then settle in
for the ride of one's life (or
a damn good distraction from,
anyhow), settle in
For years of cultural relevance
with my peers. Not as some big chore!
To investigate and eventually
figure out why
it's a big deal.
(HINT: it's because
everyone else thinks so! And
they spend a good portion of
their lives, talking about
their lives, using handy
touchstones like these
as shared reference.)
No I hate
that. Having to figure that
out from scratch. Why am I always
the one on the outside, sneering
piteously at "How could we possibly
be so into this? Is it THAT good? Do
YOU think so?" Oh yes
Oh man you have no idea YES
it is.
Welp,
I missed it
this time.
And from what I hear,
it turned out again about as rushed,
jumbled and wrong as usual. Lost
the plot in search of its significance,
confused the characters for a narrative
device and made mashed hash of pretensions
to meaning or endless, timeless heft.
But next time I bet it's better, and
how do I catch on? I've never been
involved in one of these. Seems
fun!
Not my significant other
You are not
my significant other. You are
my meaningful one. You are not
one thing, and mean other things
by symbol and sign to be understood,
You are yourself. Which you mean
direct, and everything in you
I've seen is good.
my significant other. You are
my meaningful one. You are not
one thing, and mean other things
by symbol and sign to be understood,
You are yourself. Which you mean
direct, and everything in you
I've seen is good.
The finest book
The finest book I ever read
Which one?
Oh no, you wouldn't have
Come on.
It isn't written yet.
Then how'd you read it?
In my head.
What's it about then?
Everything. All this shit
happens. Characters get
all at odds on what
to do. But mostly it's
about how they get
through.
Which one?
Oh no, you wouldn't have
Come on.
It isn't written yet.
Then how'd you read it?
In my head.
What's it about then?
Everything. All this shit
happens. Characters get
all at odds on what
to do. But mostly it's
about how they get
through.
Our famous conversations
We need one
of our famous conversations.
The kind that go on tour for years,
keep weaving back in criss-cross mode
dotting all the countryside with one
and two and three night shows,
cracking out their greatest hits
with brand new variations
we'll be bringing up forever
in our shared and secret,
private observations.
Like a living language,
thick with signs and wonder
grown between us, growing
under, growing over. Growing
older. Like the world
sometimes seems to become
a private joke we guilty
share? We who know. Except
it isn't funny, though. Just
something unexplainable
to others. We need one
of those. I mean, I know,
we've had a few - and this
is what it's grown into. Let's
just talk, then. It's not
the kind of thing that ever goes
to plan.
It's bound to, though.
of our famous conversations.
The kind that go on tour for years,
keep weaving back in criss-cross mode
dotting all the countryside with one
and two and three night shows,
cracking out their greatest hits
with brand new variations
we'll be bringing up forever
in our shared and secret,
private observations.
Like a living language,
thick with signs and wonder
grown between us, growing
under, growing over. Growing
older. Like the world
sometimes seems to become
a private joke we guilty
share? We who know. Except
it isn't funny, though. Just
something unexplainable
to others. We need one
of those. I mean, I know,
we've had a few - and this
is what it's grown into. Let's
just talk, then. It's not
the kind of thing that ever goes
to plan.
It's bound to, though.
Monday, May 27, 2019
limelight lich or revenant?
Before you bowed out of the media's glare
you were going somewhere, going somewhere
and when you returned in impostor mode
you had found something, you truly glowed
in the light
in the smoke
in the bullet's hail
everything you said was invulnerable
you drew shadows strategically placed just-so
you turned without fail.
All the light that fell on you
knew it was part of the show.
On the inside, do you wail
anymore? Or just sit at controls
and work your ways? Without a trace
- are you dying inside, or just undead?
Have you found your way back to the human race?
Have you come back to life for good?
Or revenge? What lengths shall you go?
I'm just glad
to have you back
at all,
you know.
My friend
you were going somewhere, going somewhere
and when you returned in impostor mode
you had found something, you truly glowed
in the light
in the smoke
in the bullet's hail
everything you said was invulnerable
you drew shadows strategically placed just-so
you turned without fail.
All the light that fell on you
knew it was part of the show.
On the inside, do you wail
anymore? Or just sit at controls
and work your ways? Without a trace
- are you dying inside, or just undead?
Have you found your way back to the human race?
Have you come back to life for good?
Or revenge? What lengths shall you go?
I'm just glad
to have you back
at all,
you know.
My friend
Sunday, May 26, 2019
cradling arms
helpless and invincible
you make us young enough to hold
potentials of the whole wide world
again. That you're too young to hold
That you're too young to figure out
and we grew up to understand
that so were we, but it's okay
We're sold.
I'll tell you when you're older, I
will tell you when you're old enough
to know
that you don't have to know
what you don't have
to know.
you make us young enough to hold
potentials of the whole wide world
again. That you're too young to hold
That you're too young to figure out
and we grew up to understand
that so were we, but it's okay
We're sold.
I'll tell you when you're older, I
will tell you when you're old enough
to know
that you don't have to know
what you don't have
to know.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
The bad day.
There was a point of sensation
on her arm.
It wasn't pain
but it hurt the same.
Acute, intense and describable,
without being anything one can name,
but it faded away, which was even worse.
Now she couldn't even describe the feel,
except that it was. She was sure of it.
She'd never felt anything quite so real.
on her arm.
It wasn't pain
but it hurt the same.
Acute, intense and describable,
without being anything one can name,
but it faded away, which was even worse.
Now she couldn't even describe the feel,
except that it was. She was sure of it.
She'd never felt anything quite so real.
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Please
We choose the risks, please
you had better take. I am
just a disinterested agent
of your destiny, for
all our sake.
you had better take. I am
just a disinterested agent
of your destiny, for
all our sake.
apology proposition
It's not that I love
the sound of my voice, or
wanted to use
a lot of words.
It's just
that I tried to describe
what I mean. It seems
I have failed.
So much, it hurts
You may have heard
the sound, or the tone
of hurt. It is not
your blame, but
obviously mine. I'm responsible
for your take
on what I give you
because I gave
what didn't work. Well,
I'll try again. If you're
game, I am. If you are,
it's fine. I did not even
mean so much. I just tried
to get it right. Thank you
hanging in, as you always do
after this. You are hooked
for a bumpy flight
the sound of my voice, or
wanted to use
a lot of words.
It's just
that I tried to describe
what I mean. It seems
I have failed.
So much, it hurts
You may have heard
the sound, or the tone
of hurt. It is not
your blame, but
obviously mine. I'm responsible
for your take
on what I give you
because I gave
what didn't work. Well,
I'll try again. If you're
game, I am. If you are,
it's fine. I did not even
mean so much. I just tried
to get it right. Thank you
hanging in, as you always do
after this. You are hooked
for a bumpy flight
Leaving me again
People who don't understand history's doom
are repeating themselves constantly! "Why
do I need to know this?" "Why do I need
to know this?" "Why do I need to know
this?" JUST LEARN IT. THEN you will understand
why you didn't need to know. Pliability
is the skill we teach - flexible in a set
way, the better to lay the plates for
life's blanket. A rich, sumptuous
banquet of homey down comfort
to draw over you in the night,
wondering "What shall I dream?
Whom shall I wake? Supposing
I scream?" Look. If the cops
come again it's your turn
at the door. You should
have learned better in college,
and that
is why you didn't. Objection
to "should" on principle, after
that terrible philosophy course
you took on, elective as all hell
- which tripped you off on your
current, lifelong intractability
binge. Why
did you need to know THAT?
are repeating themselves constantly! "Why
do I need to know this?" "Why do I need
to know this?" "Why do I need to know
this?" JUST LEARN IT. THEN you will understand
why you didn't need to know. Pliability
is the skill we teach - flexible in a set
way, the better to lay the plates for
life's blanket. A rich, sumptuous
banquet of homey down comfort
to draw over you in the night,
wondering "What shall I dream?
Whom shall I wake? Supposing
I scream?" Look. If the cops
come again it's your turn
at the door. You should
have learned better in college,
and that
is why you didn't. Objection
to "should" on principle, after
that terrible philosophy course
you took on, elective as all hell
- which tripped you off on your
current, lifelong intractability
binge. Why
did you need to know THAT?
that last one.
I need to write
more poems like
that last one.
A progress you can
trace looking back,
wondering how you
hadn't noticed the way,
particularly, at the time
it took. Neat! Ordered
internally, with a hint
of rhyme, scheming
from the wings, buzzing
and strafing the stage,
but well-behaved otherwise.
On-kilter lilt, tilt
and lean forward with
even-numbered turns
left, left, left
right - guess
where and it goes
there! Leaving a smile
on logic's face because
dream can make all the sense
reality doesn't, all because
it's not supposed to. Unfortunately,
such effects, done deliberately
could ruin it, leaving us
with poems like
this next one.
more poems like
that last one.
A progress you can
trace looking back,
wondering how you
hadn't noticed the way,
particularly, at the time
it took. Neat! Ordered
internally, with a hint
of rhyme, scheming
from the wings, buzzing
and strafing the stage,
but well-behaved otherwise.
On-kilter lilt, tilt
and lean forward with
even-numbered turns
left, left, left
right - guess
where and it goes
there! Leaving a smile
on logic's face because
dream can make all the sense
reality doesn't, all because
it's not supposed to. Unfortunately,
such effects, done deliberately
could ruin it, leaving us
with poems like
this next one.
Talk of reassuring sense
If anybody ever found out
what was really going on,
their mind would take a shit
in their heart. Don't ask me
I don't know that shit, I just
know people.
What the effect would be.
If people found out
there is no they. They, I mean
- with a capital 'T' - there's a
Them - Van Morrison's old band! They
used to be behind everything, hollering
gloria but then he got paranoid,
had to split or something. Go solo
- big star on the scene, dancing
on the moon with a brown-eyed girl, can
you place the blame?
Who put him there? It wasn't Them.
It was an accidental conspiracy
of his inscrutable soul and the curious
taste of others looking into it. A bad taste,
in case of some of that "Irish music" but
let's not grouse, some good tunes too. Point
is: since Them split, went offstage in all
directions leaving Morrissey to shine, moan
and mope about meat and assorted crimes
of the heart and stomach, there never
was a They. To blame things on. We just think
all strangers are lookalikes on the inside, proceed
from the same cynical, secretive motives all humans
share, and therefore - are probably in on it.
Fat Chance! Ask Van, he'll tell you.
Don't eat shit with your heart just
'cause your mind has nowhere else
to crap itself over lack of control.
That's paranoia, friend. Kinky as hell,
and no place for your state of mind
to come dancing.
what was really going on,
their mind would take a shit
in their heart. Don't ask me
I don't know that shit, I just
know people.
What the effect would be.
If people found out
there is no they. They, I mean
- with a capital 'T' - there's a
Them - Van Morrison's old band! They
used to be behind everything, hollering
gloria but then he got paranoid,
had to split or something. Go solo
- big star on the scene, dancing
on the moon with a brown-eyed girl, can
you place the blame?
Who put him there? It wasn't Them.
It was an accidental conspiracy
of his inscrutable soul and the curious
taste of others looking into it. A bad taste,
in case of some of that "Irish music" but
let's not grouse, some good tunes too. Point
is: since Them split, went offstage in all
directions leaving Morrissey to shine, moan
and mope about meat and assorted crimes
of the heart and stomach, there never
was a They. To blame things on. We just think
all strangers are lookalikes on the inside, proceed
from the same cynical, secretive motives all humans
share, and therefore - are probably in on it.
Fat Chance! Ask Van, he'll tell you.
Don't eat shit with your heart just
'cause your mind has nowhere else
to crap itself over lack of control.
That's paranoia, friend. Kinky as hell,
and no place for your state of mind
to come dancing.
Friday, May 17, 2019
burst
Bursting open at the seems
things are happening too fast
for me to quite react to them
- I reach a hand to catch,
to grasp, and only tip
to misdirect
a fall ordained by plausibly,
deniably: a suspect. Who
made me do this? I'd fall
myself, but I
know what would
catch me then. And
it's not hell,
and I don't want to go. I don't
concern with it, or coincide,
I do not fit. My best
reaction
is too slow. So
just say no,
I guess. And then?
Say yes
to something else again.
things are happening too fast
for me to quite react to them
- I reach a hand to catch,
to grasp, and only tip
to misdirect
a fall ordained by plausibly,
deniably: a suspect. Who
made me do this? I'd fall
myself, but I
know what would
catch me then. And
it's not hell,
and I don't want to go. I don't
concern with it, or coincide,
I do not fit. My best
reaction
is too slow. So
just say no,
I guess. And then?
Say yes
to something else again.
"The skeptic's oath"
They say knowledge is power.
Well hell, it might be,
but the might that makes right
is more easy to see.
We take our 'might be' -
the best that we had
- and if we make do,
well, that isn't too bad.
What might be - well, some
of it's mighty as pens
and swords put together,
in quest for amends.
What's known, only might
be right. For right now,
let's inhabit meanwhile.
That could be a vow.
Well hell, it might be,
but the might that makes right
is more easy to see.
We take our 'might be' -
the best that we had
- and if we make do,
well, that isn't too bad.
What might be - well, some
of it's mighty as pens
and swords put together,
in quest for amends.
What's known, only might
be right. For right now,
let's inhabit meanwhile.
That could be a vow.
"butt hurt": a haiku
When your head's up your
ass - which one hurts worse? Might as
well flip a coin. Tails
ass - which one hurts worse? Might as
well flip a coin. Tails
Real things, yet unprovable
The things we can't possibly prove
are real: we know they are real. For
we speak of them as the class of things
that are real we can't prove. By definition,
it has got to be truth. So what can we do
to prove these things? Or at least narrow down
the field to those we know are real, even if
we can't prove. We'd concentrate hard on that
many (or few) and improved concentration and
focus would find
some way
to remove
the blind from our eyes
we would work like draft horses then,
startled by all! In our new field of vision
we'd stall, and we'd
stall
are real: we know they are real. For
we speak of them as the class of things
that are real we can't prove. By definition,
it has got to be truth. So what can we do
to prove these things? Or at least narrow down
the field to those we know are real, even if
we can't prove. We'd concentrate hard on that
many (or few) and improved concentration and
focus would find
some way
to remove
the blind from our eyes
we would work like draft horses then,
startled by all! In our new field of vision
we'd stall, and we'd
stall
Thursday, May 16, 2019
study
I think she's someone
who wants to put passion
first in everything, but too much
of the world is not that simple. And she won't
forgive herself
for acting thoughtlessly in areas
she hasn't figured out. Her passion
in areas of principle is made possible
by how well
she knows
those things. In
politics and her personal
integrity, she may be ruled
by passion, but I bet
she's put a lifetime of thought
into them, in-between the tests. Perhaps
she looked at this proposal as a crisis,
as important as any of her principles, and
whose solution required a lifetime's worth
of thought, in too short a time
to accomplish it right
or well.
She cinched off
her emotions, in an attempt to clarify
the decision that needed so urgently
to be made, correctly.
She overcompensated. And she
has paid indirectly.
who wants to put passion
first in everything, but too much
of the world is not that simple. And she won't
forgive herself
for acting thoughtlessly in areas
she hasn't figured out. Her passion
in areas of principle is made possible
by how well
she knows
those things. In
politics and her personal
integrity, she may be ruled
by passion, but I bet
she's put a lifetime of thought
into them, in-between the tests. Perhaps
she looked at this proposal as a crisis,
as important as any of her principles, and
whose solution required a lifetime's worth
of thought, in too short a time
to accomplish it right
or well.
She cinched off
her emotions, in an attempt to clarify
the decision that needed so urgently
to be made, correctly.
She overcompensated. And she
has paid indirectly.
mysterious origins: confirmation bias
How did bias
ever get confirmed in the first
place? When there was none?
Did somebody come along, "Here.
BIAS." And you were "SWEET!
I need one of these - otherwise
nothing can be confirmed" or
what? Because without that seed,
would not all subsequent clouds
of doubt coming over be barren? It takes rain
to make the lightning strike, or so
I've always heard, counting one
one thousand two one
thousand three one
wait. I lost count. Where's
the boom? Oh yeah
there is no storm. No seed
to make this warm low-pressure
zone take form, swirl towering up
rain judgment down
to fill my cup
it's just
impossible
without some bias
to begin with. Where
shall we dance?
ever get confirmed in the first
place? When there was none?
Did somebody come along, "Here.
BIAS." And you were "SWEET!
I need one of these - otherwise
nothing can be confirmed" or
what? Because without that seed,
would not all subsequent clouds
of doubt coming over be barren? It takes rain
to make the lightning strike, or so
I've always heard, counting one
one thousand two one
thousand three one
wait. I lost count. Where's
the boom? Oh yeah
there is no storm. No seed
to make this warm low-pressure
zone take form, swirl towering up
rain judgment down
to fill my cup
it's just
impossible
without some bias
to begin with. Where
shall we dance?
"inspirational downpour"
Don't be so focused on wrongdoing you
completely forget about wrongbeing. Make
positivity your problem. Everyone has
a burden to uplift. If
you can't beat 'em lose 'em. If you
can't beat yourself, be somebody
you can. Some
of the best days come right
in the middle of some
of the worst lifetimes. When
you're always at your darkest,
remember: you help
all the light
in the world
stand out.
completely forget about wrongbeing. Make
positivity your problem. Everyone has
a burden to uplift. If
you can't beat 'em lose 'em. If you
can't beat yourself, be somebody
you can. Some
of the best days come right
in the middle of some
of the worst lifetimes. When
you're always at your darkest,
remember: you help
all the light
in the world
stand out.
it means death
What if this means death
to us? What would it mean,
death? To us? Would it mean
cessating life? Is cessating
even right? Is it a real word?
If not - what would it mean
it it was? Maybe we could get
the world to embrace words
they'd never heard, and take
them up, and take them on,
and use them when we both
are gone? That would be
a legacy. But what's it
mean to you and me?
to us? What would it mean,
death? To us? Would it mean
cessating life? Is cessating
even right? Is it a real word?
If not - what would it mean
it it was? Maybe we could get
the world to embrace words
they'd never heard, and take
them up, and take them on,
and use them when we both
are gone? That would be
a legacy. But what's it
mean to you and me?
definitions of persistence
Knowledge is what persists
between observations. Reality
is what persists through direct
scrutiny and test, repelling by
its obstinacy all attempts
to falsify.
Love
is what persists between both,
and lifts each up, and runs a charge
through every state of observation
in succession, growing large. It pulls,
connects and couples up all passing snapshots
shining through with faith in continuity,
a proving not a guessing: that between
and in-between each look, knows what
to do. The feeling stills
and swells, and never sleeps
but wait. Is it still there? Just
kidding. Yes. Not even checking. No,
not fate. Just something known,
I reckon. Something not observed
each moment, but it shows
unfailing, up for every show,
for every scrutiny, turns out
to do its duty, and persists
in being blessing, being
lesson, and existing
without lessening. Being
is what is, despite our lapse
of paid attention to. Being
laps us on the track as many times
as we weren't counting, changes
while remaining true,
and always catches up with us
in time to rest and breathe, collapse
on grass, surrendering
to gravity and trust,
and to belief
that some things last,
because we must.
between observations. Reality
is what persists through direct
scrutiny and test, repelling by
its obstinacy all attempts
to falsify.
Love
is what persists between both,
and lifts each up, and runs a charge
through every state of observation
in succession, growing large. It pulls,
connects and couples up all passing snapshots
shining through with faith in continuity,
a proving not a guessing: that between
and in-between each look, knows what
to do. The feeling stills
and swells, and never sleeps
but wait. Is it still there? Just
kidding. Yes. Not even checking. No,
not fate. Just something known,
I reckon. Something not observed
each moment, but it shows
unfailing, up for every show,
for every scrutiny, turns out
to do its duty, and persists
in being blessing, being
lesson, and existing
without lessening. Being
is what is, despite our lapse
of paid attention to. Being
laps us on the track as many times
as we weren't counting, changes
while remaining true,
and always catches up with us
in time to rest and breathe, collapse
on grass, surrendering
to gravity and trust,
and to belief
that some things last,
because we must.
"history's fair warning"
Oh come now.
Those were different
times.
Let us not enrich ourselves
trampling their funny ways
at atrocity whilst fatting
our butcher spoons for the feast
still stewing from the bones
of slaughter they made in a dim,
benighted past
none of us now
living can imagine,
except to say well, we have it quite as bad
in some respects, and why
haven't I profited?
You know what?
Screw that, LET'S.
WHY? BECAUSE
WE BLAME SCUMBAGS
FOR THEIR DEAD GONE ACTS
OF BULLSHIT? LIKE THAT'LL HELP? No.
Because we seek everywhere now
for example to make of evil. Because
we have oh so many to make right here, but
you know if we do some digging
let's find all we can! And do
a number on them to hype and psyche
ourselves up for the blood of ALL tyrants
and despoilers, past, present and future!
If we wash
and work that lather
around stiff and hard enough, surely
many who'd otherwise settle for burnt
corpse for breakfast, lunch, supper and soup
of every damn day might spit it out! And get up
to give a more personal compliment to today's chefs.
One they won't soon forget, but
not for lack of opportunity
ever to do so again. Right?
I mean, every point we make
is for now. Now, clearly, now
- for we, the living. And there are
now living among us, some scum
up to the same anciently perfected
and modernly progressed
tricks.
There are fine and subtle points
to be made of the past, to good
effect, for now.
When did the b.s. come in
that we should spare the past
criticism, lest the future criticize
us?
WHO CARES
WE'LL BE DEAD. No sense
pulling punches while we got
a chance to lay about
us at and through all human history?
It accumulates now, even still. It's still
building up. Let us take history
as a lesson plan of what happens
or soon will, to tyrants. If YOU
don't learn your history, WE WILL
RAPIDLY AND DECISIVELY ADD YOU TO
IT.
All in due process, of course. We've learned
also
what happens to zealots, when their blood
is cooled and thirst for others' slaked, and
they look up to see
what's left to revolve.
Every good way to protect
themselves, torn down
so it couldn't protect
the beast. That pushed them
past all grief and endurance, and so
well-deserved its fate, probably.
But did they deserve what came afterwards,
and do we? Let's deserve
better, more, more good. More liberty, security
and hard, balanced check.
Let's deserve checkmate.
Let's play like the game is a winnable one, and think
all moves ahead to some final, correct outcome
that begins with v, t, w. And let it be
victory we deserve, triumph we've earned
and a win in the books. But let's not forget
we shall have to serve. Another opponent
appears to sit down. Hit the fool
with every last trick and first cause
in the book: make them play, hard and honestly
as a hard brutal human stands by, watching on
wrapped entirely 'round in soft, brutal laws
- bound to not interfere, no not even
to kill us both! Except where all come
agreeing that it
had cause.
It is we. Our position: both players,
the board and the referee. Let us make good use
of the worst and the best and the ways they're alike
and different, every page of the book
we can point to and say: here's a parallel.
Let's make sure they never do us
this way.
Good cause. Good eye. Good aim; let's try.
Let's show them what we won't stand
and what they shall get,
before we give it away.
Those were different
times.
Let us not enrich ourselves
trampling their funny ways
at atrocity whilst fatting
our butcher spoons for the feast
still stewing from the bones
of slaughter they made in a dim,
benighted past
none of us now
living can imagine,
except to say well, we have it quite as bad
in some respects, and why
haven't I profited?
You know what?
Screw that, LET'S.
WHY? BECAUSE
WE BLAME SCUMBAGS
FOR THEIR DEAD GONE ACTS
OF BULLSHIT? LIKE THAT'LL HELP? No.
Because we seek everywhere now
for example to make of evil. Because
we have oh so many to make right here, but
you know if we do some digging
let's find all we can! And do
a number on them to hype and psyche
ourselves up for the blood of ALL tyrants
and despoilers, past, present and future!
If we wash
and work that lather
around stiff and hard enough, surely
many who'd otherwise settle for burnt
corpse for breakfast, lunch, supper and soup
of every damn day might spit it out! And get up
to give a more personal compliment to today's chefs.
One they won't soon forget, but
not for lack of opportunity
ever to do so again. Right?
I mean, every point we make
is for now. Now, clearly, now
- for we, the living. And there are
now living among us, some scum
up to the same anciently perfected
and modernly progressed
tricks.
There are fine and subtle points
to be made of the past, to good
effect, for now.
When did the b.s. come in
that we should spare the past
criticism, lest the future criticize
us?
WHO CARES
WE'LL BE DEAD. No sense
pulling punches while we got
a chance to lay about
us at and through all human history?
It accumulates now, even still. It's still
building up. Let us take history
as a lesson plan of what happens
or soon will, to tyrants. If YOU
don't learn your history, WE WILL
RAPIDLY AND DECISIVELY ADD YOU TO
IT.
All in due process, of course. We've learned
also
what happens to zealots, when their blood
is cooled and thirst for others' slaked, and
they look up to see
what's left to revolve.
Every good way to protect
themselves, torn down
so it couldn't protect
the beast. That pushed them
past all grief and endurance, and so
well-deserved its fate, probably.
But did they deserve what came afterwards,
and do we? Let's deserve
better, more, more good. More liberty, security
and hard, balanced check.
Let's deserve checkmate.
Let's play like the game is a winnable one, and think
all moves ahead to some final, correct outcome
that begins with v, t, w. And let it be
victory we deserve, triumph we've earned
and a win in the books. But let's not forget
we shall have to serve. Another opponent
appears to sit down. Hit the fool
with every last trick and first cause
in the book: make them play, hard and honestly
as a hard brutal human stands by, watching on
wrapped entirely 'round in soft, brutal laws
- bound to not interfere, no not even
to kill us both! Except where all come
agreeing that it
had cause.
It is we. Our position: both players,
the board and the referee. Let us make good use
of the worst and the best and the ways they're alike
and different, every page of the book
we can point to and say: here's a parallel.
Let's make sure they never do us
this way.
Good cause. Good eye. Good aim; let's try.
Let's show them what we won't stand
and what they shall get,
before we give it away.
Objectify
A person is an object
always, when we are
subject to them. They work
their wills and ways without
a trace of our intention, and
provoke response - so good!
So bad, it is in us
they make such things. But
we do not object to this,
because of all the joy
it brings when we discover
they themselves
are subject to ourselves
as well, in some
voluted circumstance
of columns sunk in fundament
we somehow share, because
we've made. To raise us up
and terrify
the demons and the shades
we've also made, to populate
such hells as still exist:
In eyes of babes, they're
flickering, peripheral. We'd give
our lives to save this one.
Believing it reciprocal,
we stage and set all kinds
of tricks to make sure they
don't sacrifice. It is our work
- a mighty gift. You are of worth.
And I will pay the price.
always, when we are
subject to them. They work
their wills and ways without
a trace of our intention, and
provoke response - so good!
So bad, it is in us
they make such things. But
we do not object to this,
because of all the joy
it brings when we discover
they themselves
are subject to ourselves
as well, in some
voluted circumstance
of columns sunk in fundament
we somehow share, because
we've made. To raise us up
and terrify
the demons and the shades
we've also made, to populate
such hells as still exist:
In eyes of babes, they're
flickering, peripheral. We'd give
our lives to save this one.
Believing it reciprocal,
we stage and set all kinds
of tricks to make sure they
don't sacrifice. It is our work
- a mighty gift. You are of worth.
And I will pay the price.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Forget the good
Forget the good we are, I
forget the good we are, or it's
as if I do. Each time
experiencing it again,
like here, with you - I just
forget
it was this good
before.
It can't have been,
can it? Except
I have distinct recall,
and yes, last time I thought
as much; I swore to it. Thought
just the same: it was
beyond all best
I'd ever found or known.
And here I am, and so
are you. As usual
with cover blown -
as good as anything
we do.
But now
I know. I guess
we couldn't keep it up
forever. Still. Here
we both are, keeping
it up. It's looking like
we always will.
forget the good we are, or it's
as if I do. Each time
experiencing it again,
like here, with you - I just
forget
it was this good
before.
It can't have been,
can it? Except
I have distinct recall,
and yes, last time I thought
as much; I swore to it. Thought
just the same: it was
beyond all best
I'd ever found or known.
And here I am, and so
are you. As usual
with cover blown -
as good as anything
we do.
But now
I know. I guess
we couldn't keep it up
forever. Still. Here
we both are, keeping
it up. It's looking like
we always will.
As if you had
As if you had to hope, you tried.
There wasn't any truth denied.
There wasn't any evidence, to rein
you in by rains of sensory deceit
or trickery. No optical illusions,
we - no auditory counterfeits. For
it's all here, and it all fits.
There once were fairy tales of dells
and forests, dragonless with elves
made up all stiff like mannequins.
We've done them up in motley,
smart as harlequins and rode them off
in pantomime upon our costumed,
clumsy back - a mighty hoss
we made between us two - so many
trips we took, so many forth
and back again, for denizens
to safely cart away.
In case it burned.
And when it did, we went to town
with trucks of elves, turned out
and all marked down to sell.
And if no one would buy? Well.
Towns burn too, you know. In such
fine ways we cleared out youth,
the magic and accouterment we always knew
would have to go. Washed it, wiped it
clean as snow and settled in
for greater things. Now it's
all here. And it all fits. It's bound
for greater things we are, and bound
by greater sentiments. There wasn't
any truth denied. There wasn't any
evidence, but finally or now, we find
a relevance, upwelling from within
to take us long ways 'round, and
all the long ways back of homes.
We know what we shall finally find:
behind some picket line of fence,
with sole protesting garden gnome:
a lasting peace. In lasting place,
where finally we'll be released.
The finish line. Home safe,
yell "base!" and slap your hand
on cold concrete, as all the chasers
running lost, yell "Tag!" "Not it!"
until they're beat.
There wasn't any truth denied.
There wasn't any evidence, to rein
you in by rains of sensory deceit
or trickery. No optical illusions,
we - no auditory counterfeits. For
it's all here, and it all fits.
There once were fairy tales of dells
and forests, dragonless with elves
made up all stiff like mannequins.
We've done them up in motley,
smart as harlequins and rode them off
in pantomime upon our costumed,
clumsy back - a mighty hoss
we made between us two - so many
trips we took, so many forth
and back again, for denizens
to safely cart away.
In case it burned.
And when it did, we went to town
with trucks of elves, turned out
and all marked down to sell.
And if no one would buy? Well.
Towns burn too, you know. In such
fine ways we cleared out youth,
the magic and accouterment we always knew
would have to go. Washed it, wiped it
clean as snow and settled in
for greater things. Now it's
all here. And it all fits. It's bound
for greater things we are, and bound
by greater sentiments. There wasn't
any truth denied. There wasn't any
evidence, but finally or now, we find
a relevance, upwelling from within
to take us long ways 'round, and
all the long ways back of homes.
We know what we shall finally find:
behind some picket line of fence,
with sole protesting garden gnome:
a lasting peace. In lasting place,
where finally we'll be released.
The finish line. Home safe,
yell "base!" and slap your hand
on cold concrete, as all the chasers
running lost, yell "Tag!" "Not it!"
until they're beat.
The haven't been happening
The haven't been happening came
to the other day. It wasn't a normal.
First we all looked, then
it seemed as though we were going to have to.
But there would be a soon, very hopefully
to deal with. Later, the party
and all we were. Nobody could have!
Without the second, it was going to have
to wait a minute. Fortunately, though
- we suddenly have.
Never again could anyone ever, not
after such a sense we had - tremendous,
in those days. Why, it's a marvel no one's
made a name of it. What could it be then?
What could it mean?
Only such things
as have always fallen
together, haply by accident,
as if fate's chance
had finally come.
Would you?
to the other day. It wasn't a normal.
First we all looked, then
it seemed as though we were going to have to.
But there would be a soon, very hopefully
to deal with. Later, the party
and all we were. Nobody could have!
Without the second, it was going to have
to wait a minute. Fortunately, though
- we suddenly have.
Never again could anyone ever, not
after such a sense we had - tremendous,
in those days. Why, it's a marvel no one's
made a name of it. What could it be then?
What could it mean?
Only such things
as have always fallen
together, haply by accident,
as if fate's chance
had finally come.
Would you?
Something Else to Feel Mad About
Another song so much better
than the one you wrote,
but you'd written it first
You came out before some tiny part
of the world,
to plant it right between their eyes -
and grow
and everyone there at least, surely knew
you'd given them peace from a blessed land
and when it came time,
yes when it came time
you chose a different stand.
This weak and wan
and trembling thing
you raised up
from so strong a calf
into so weak and bum a steer -
it is to laugh.
But throw your head back
as you do, or else
you'd let your tears drown you.
You swim and swim but can't pull clear
from tidal pull, so great you were
in all that past.
than the one you wrote,
but you'd written it first
You came out before some tiny part
of the world,
to plant it right between their eyes -
and grow
and everyone there at least, surely knew
you'd given them peace from a blessed land
and when it came time,
yes when it came time
you chose a different stand.
This weak and wan
and trembling thing
you raised up
from so strong a calf
into so weak and bum a steer -
it is to laugh.
But throw your head back
as you do, or else
you'd let your tears drown you.
You swim and swim but can't pull clear
from tidal pull, so great you were
in all that past.
"falsest dilemma"
Without you
I'll just betray someone else
maybe myself
maybe someone else
I been good
my whole damn life
it's got me what
a run-on sentence
I don't want
full stop
or question mark
to end, but
Without You
I'll just betray
someone else, maybe myself
maybe someone else
again, I'll just betray myself
or someone else,
or maybe you
and then
I know
I never can
betray you, though
Except maybe that
is why you need to go
if I cannot betray
someone, I'm going
to slip underneath
this weight of me
and find some way
that isn't mine
without you
I'll just betray someone else
maybe myself
maybe someone else
I been good
my whole damn life
it's got me what
a run-on sentence
I don't want
full stop
or question mark
to end, but
Without You
I'll just betray
someone else, maybe myself
maybe someone else
again, I'll just betray myself
or someone else,
or maybe you
and then
I know
I never can
betray you, though
Except maybe that
is why you need to go
if I cannot betray
someone, I'm going
to slip underneath
this weight of me
and find some way
that isn't mine
without you
books and their sourcings
I do love loaning books. I never
expect them back. Why burden myself
with cares? I know
if I have to buy it again
- what a powerful thing we have
there! What enjoyable reflection
on what we have in this book's
pull and draw, it's appeal
and force. What renewable
value, to find a repeatable
test, in this field of all-too-often
one-off results? That is all
you can get from most books. If I have
to buy it again, then I have to. I want
to participate, actively, not a passive
participant, I: just open and read? Oh,
that will be me! But first:
I'll return to the scene of the crime,
where I burned my dough that first damn
time, and I'll burn it again: in sacrifice.
A reverent act, like it always was. And
I will be then, once again
a material aid
to good purpose
and such good cause: the publisher
and/or book seller ("or" in the case
of a used book store). The makers
and givers (at reasonable rates)
of such great things
as very good books.
When I know what I want,
and I know it's good - I don't mind
paying more than once, if I'd rather
not wait.
expect them back. Why burden myself
with cares? I know
if I have to buy it again
- what a powerful thing we have
there! What enjoyable reflection
on what we have in this book's
pull and draw, it's appeal
and force. What renewable
value, to find a repeatable
test, in this field of all-too-often
one-off results? That is all
you can get from most books. If I have
to buy it again, then I have to. I want
to participate, actively, not a passive
participant, I: just open and read? Oh,
that will be me! But first:
I'll return to the scene of the crime,
where I burned my dough that first damn
time, and I'll burn it again: in sacrifice.
A reverent act, like it always was. And
I will be then, once again
a material aid
to good purpose
and such good cause: the publisher
and/or book seller ("or" in the case
of a used book store). The makers
and givers (at reasonable rates)
of such great things
as very good books.
When I know what I want,
and I know it's good - I don't mind
paying more than once, if I'd rather
not wait.
mr. fallusy
I like to take your argument
and set it on fire
in the shape of a man
- it's an effigy.
And you're always surprised
since your argument was
made of bricks! With an iddy
biddy piggy inside, well
it goes to show
that you can't
trust me.
Better hide,
I'm a horrible
man, crying wolfish tears
at the shape I am in, under
foolish moon. Someone bit
me once, I was harmed
and I never got well
from that magical wound.
That is hardly my fault
after all of this
- what and who I am,
plus the character that
I clearly have - you conclude
you cannot trust a thing
I say! Let alone what I'm doing
from push to shove, from better
to just plain bad.
You'd be wrong, to conclude
such a thing. But perhaps
you'd be better that way.
I have taken your stance,
I have tilted the slippery ground
where you tried to plant, and I pushed
and I shoved you down hard. You are
sliding now, so far - the abyss
is about to frown
when you land
right smack
in its unblinking eye!
Which you couldn't have missed. Oh
well. You should have faced front
as you slid and fell down that slippery
cliff, or bluff perhaps? Could've stared
it down, made it blink just once
or twice, at the light from the sky,
through which you come crashing in?
But why?
Who can say. I have given you
so much to know, and uneasily
down. I have taken the highest authority,
I have hung strict quotes from its awful nose,
I have taken what ignorance proves
quite free, and clear, and you'd better
believe it shows.
If you wish, you can call
mister fallacy.
That's me. Better spell it
'phallusy' though,
'cause I'm really a dick. Informality
is a charming style, if you can
pull it off. Sometimes you can't tell
if you have or have not, with such
see-through clothes. Well,
you work with whatever
you may have got.
and set it on fire
in the shape of a man
- it's an effigy.
And you're always surprised
since your argument was
made of bricks! With an iddy
biddy piggy inside, well
it goes to show
that you can't
trust me.
Better hide,
I'm a horrible
man, crying wolfish tears
at the shape I am in, under
foolish moon. Someone bit
me once, I was harmed
and I never got well
from that magical wound.
That is hardly my fault
after all of this
- what and who I am,
plus the character that
I clearly have - you conclude
you cannot trust a thing
I say! Let alone what I'm doing
from push to shove, from better
to just plain bad.
You'd be wrong, to conclude
such a thing. But perhaps
you'd be better that way.
I have taken your stance,
I have tilted the slippery ground
where you tried to plant, and I pushed
and I shoved you down hard. You are
sliding now, so far - the abyss
is about to frown
when you land
right smack
in its unblinking eye!
Which you couldn't have missed. Oh
well. You should have faced front
as you slid and fell down that slippery
cliff, or bluff perhaps? Could've stared
it down, made it blink just once
or twice, at the light from the sky,
through which you come crashing in?
But why?
Who can say. I have given you
so much to know, and uneasily
down. I have taken the highest authority,
I have hung strict quotes from its awful nose,
I have taken what ignorance proves
quite free, and clear, and you'd better
believe it shows.
If you wish, you can call
mister fallacy.
That's me. Better spell it
'phallusy' though,
'cause I'm really a dick. Informality
is a charming style, if you can
pull it off. Sometimes you can't tell
if you have or have not, with such
see-through clothes. Well,
you work with whatever
you may have got.
pep talk
There are so
MANY
women
WHO ARE BEAUTIFUL
That's not a threat! If
woman, you've got a man
who can see all the beauty out there
for what it's worth, well you know
HE IS WITH YOU
for some other reason!
Or anyway
not like it sounds, but
that doesn't mean - I mean I meant
for some "additional reason." Obviously
it's implied in his eyes
reflected in yours when you both
open your eyes
in the middle of a shit-hot makeout session
and scan each other's souls for tipoffs
"how's it going?" "proceed?" "continue?"
Obviously that's what it meant. It means
beauty.
He doesn't think it's some
rare archaeological treasure
to mount expeditions over
"I have discovered a GOOD LOOKING WOMAN"
"ANOTHER ONE? WHERE?"
It's normal, let's not lose our heads, men
you have a woman
who she says is your very own, you say
"likewise" and
- what's more beautiful? THAT?
or some passing stranger with a lilt
in the hitch in her hips as she walks, and flips
you the bird for noticing?
Come off it, you know the real answer.
Stop thinking in your pants, those thoughts
are obvious to everyone. Be real.
Be open and see beauty. Wherever.
Observe to yourself, "Big deal" wisely. Say
to yourself, "Big whoop!" And then
go
reassure your woman who says
she is yours. She said it for a reason, right?
Could there be more beauty in the world
than there is here?
No man
No. Not probable. So
Go
Reassure her:
Read her this poem
Like you mean it.
Because you know what?
I'll let you in on a little secret
you do
YOU DO DUDE
you totally do
you fag
MANY
women
WHO ARE BEAUTIFUL
That's not a threat! If
woman, you've got a man
who can see all the beauty out there
for what it's worth, well you know
HE IS WITH YOU
for some other reason!
Or anyway
not like it sounds, but
that doesn't mean - I mean I meant
for some "additional reason." Obviously
it's implied in his eyes
reflected in yours when you both
open your eyes
in the middle of a shit-hot makeout session
and scan each other's souls for tipoffs
"how's it going?" "proceed?" "continue?"
Obviously that's what it meant. It means
beauty.
He doesn't think it's some
rare archaeological treasure
to mount expeditions over
"I have discovered a GOOD LOOKING WOMAN"
"ANOTHER ONE? WHERE?"
It's normal, let's not lose our heads, men
you have a woman
who she says is your very own, you say
"likewise" and
- what's more beautiful? THAT?
or some passing stranger with a lilt
in the hitch in her hips as she walks, and flips
you the bird for noticing?
Come off it, you know the real answer.
Stop thinking in your pants, those thoughts
are obvious to everyone. Be real.
Be open and see beauty. Wherever.
Observe to yourself, "Big deal" wisely. Say
to yourself, "Big whoop!" And then
go
reassure your woman who says
she is yours. She said it for a reason, right?
Could there be more beauty in the world
than there is here?
No man
No. Not probable. So
Go
Reassure her:
Read her this poem
Like you mean it.
Because you know what?
I'll let you in on a little secret
you do
YOU DO DUDE
you totally do
you fag
the episode
The scene begins out
in the middle of nowhere, or
seemingly so. It probably is
somewhere, and probably not
in the middle, but: all we can see
are the silhouettes
of some kind of tree, repeated
in sepia tones, like stage trees
set in irregular row, for the shapes
they cast in the mind: desolate, dark
against what's left of the coming light.
A twilit and gathering gloom
we dive in.
In particular order, events
occur.
Troubling. The protagonist - she
isn't aware she's the enemy
of humanity, and neither are we
but she's starting to get
the message: there is
a monster out there, or
more than one. And in
the house, and its gotten inside
her mind, no doubt. This life
had to die, but it won't, and
it won't. Until we all fail
the attempt will go
on, and on
'til the end of the episode.
When there's a big reveal
don't ask
we don't know.
in the middle of nowhere, or
seemingly so. It probably is
somewhere, and probably not
in the middle, but: all we can see
are the silhouettes
of some kind of tree, repeated
in sepia tones, like stage trees
set in irregular row, for the shapes
they cast in the mind: desolate, dark
against what's left of the coming light.
A twilit and gathering gloom
we dive in.
In particular order, events
occur.
Troubling. The protagonist - she
isn't aware she's the enemy
of humanity, and neither are we
but she's starting to get
the message: there is
a monster out there, or
more than one. And in
the house, and its gotten inside
her mind, no doubt. This life
had to die, but it won't, and
it won't. Until we all fail
the attempt will go
on, and on
'til the end of the episode.
When there's a big reveal
don't ask
we don't know.
trapdoor mat
My thick pile of bushy fibers
says welcome upon it, but don't
mistake the invitation. And
as your hand unbidden reaches
out to press what you suspect
is a button of mine - don't forget
to wipe your feet, quite thoroughly.
The spikes so far down there are kept
sharp and piercing, spotless clean
for you
so as to void the risk
of nasty sepsis creeping in,
after a fall so long you'll tell
yourself ten stories why you came
on this, your free and easy way
straight down by games of gravity
you shouldn't play.
says welcome upon it, but don't
mistake the invitation. And
as your hand unbidden reaches
out to press what you suspect
is a button of mine - don't forget
to wipe your feet, quite thoroughly.
The spikes so far down there are kept
sharp and piercing, spotless clean
for you
so as to void the risk
of nasty sepsis creeping in,
after a fall so long you'll tell
yourself ten stories why you came
on this, your free and easy way
straight down by games of gravity
you shouldn't play.
the best you
If somebody loves you
They're probably right.
They won't be mistaken,
deceived on that point,
by you, or themselves -
but sometimes they are.
Don't try to find out
by going too far, or
with tricks or with
traps pushing truth
out of joint! The
best you can do is
be you and give you
the best that you can,
and they'll figure it out
(they always do) before it's
too late, or just after, just
when
You were sure
it was fate, and it
isn't again.
They're probably right.
They won't be mistaken,
deceived on that point,
by you, or themselves -
but sometimes they are.
Don't try to find out
by going too far, or
with tricks or with
traps pushing truth
out of joint! The
best you can do is
be you and give you
the best that you can,
and they'll figure it out
(they always do) before it's
too late, or just after, just
when
You were sure
it was fate, and it
isn't again.
Monday, May 13, 2019
sizing up
Kids on benches
kick their feet
until the world
grows up for them
to reach. They take
the world right-size,
however big it comes. It's easy
just believe your eyes. As it
begins to shrink, they just
reach higher for some treat.
If you just take it as it comes,
no matter how
small it all gets
the world cannot be beat.
kick their feet
until the world
grows up for them
to reach. They take
the world right-size,
however big it comes. It's easy
just believe your eyes. As it
begins to shrink, they just
reach higher for some treat.
If you just take it as it comes,
no matter how
small it all gets
the world cannot be beat.
Act like this could make you famous
Act like this will make you famous.
What would you be famous for?
All your friends will see you stranger,
showing your true colors or
confirming what they knew you were.
Captured screen or video
shared globally, so much disgust.
Clear the coming calendar,
and say goodbye to who you trust,
who trusted you, and say hello
to everyone defining you by this. Right now.
So how did you want this to go,
and what did you want to become?
A better, decent person, then?
The kind who acts with thought
for feel? How admirable. Forget it.
No one's sharing that with anyone.
It's common. Please. Get real.
Next time, don't think
before you act, just act.
Then we'll have some fun.
What would you be famous for?
All your friends will see you stranger,
showing your true colors or
confirming what they knew you were.
Captured screen or video
shared globally, so much disgust.
Clear the coming calendar,
and say goodbye to who you trust,
who trusted you, and say hello
to everyone defining you by this. Right now.
So how did you want this to go,
and what did you want to become?
A better, decent person, then?
The kind who acts with thought
for feel? How admirable. Forget it.
No one's sharing that with anyone.
It's common. Please. Get real.
Next time, don't think
before you act, just act.
Then we'll have some fun.
Sunday, May 12, 2019
her day, from you
mothers had to come in first
and find some reason strong enough
maybe just
the love of her life?
common as a fairy tale, or maybe just
some ***hole man
Eventually, she turned to you
to show how right and wrong
she was. Eventually,
we always do.
Huge tons of hope
coursed through your tiny form
back when you didn't know
how hard hope was. She sang hope soft
in made up words, when you knew only
comfort, joy and fuss.
You knew an unconditional love
a mother's love. She'd wait
on you and circumstance
to bring conditions in,
and she would see you through
some way the two of you
- or you, at least - would
rise above. If possibly
she can, she could, she'd see
that you'd be blessed.
You are. Held desperately
to make believe the world
with you in it
is best.
and find some reason strong enough
maybe just
the love of her life?
common as a fairy tale, or maybe just
some ***hole man
Eventually, she turned to you
to show how right and wrong
she was. Eventually,
we always do.
Huge tons of hope
coursed through your tiny form
back when you didn't know
how hard hope was. She sang hope soft
in made up words, when you knew only
comfort, joy and fuss.
You knew an unconditional love
a mother's love. She'd wait
on you and circumstance
to bring conditions in,
and she would see you through
some way the two of you
- or you, at least - would
rise above. If possibly
she can, she could, she'd see
that you'd be blessed.
You are. Held desperately
to make believe the world
with you in it
is best.
Saturday, May 11, 2019
default 1st reply to your comment
I assure you, the fact
I don't care what you just wrote
^^^ up there - is not in retaliation
for your not caring for what I wrote.
I just don't care! I wouldn't have cared
anyway, if you hadn't written. When I read
what you did write, I couldn't care less.
It reflects well on you that you wrote
(if not what, necessarily). It shows
you cared, to show what you don't
care for. Perhaps,
you even dared to hope that I'd care
what you shared! If so though, whoa
Nope!
It's not that I don't care
what anyone writes,
it's more
that opinion self-adjusts on sight
in worth and scope, automatically
between give and take. When you can SEE
someone's trying to hand you a hard, dry pellet
of rabbit scat - is THAT what you care for?
Take it then! Pop it like eminem
but beware such habits build
bad breath. Again:
From your side, it reflects
well on you that you cared to show. You dared
to share, and it reflects more tellingly even
you felt what you had there - is something
others, too, could care about. Why?
Because it is yours? They might care
for that reason?
It makes sense you care, anyway. And I
have no problem with your offering. We all
show ourselves in what we give.
Takes a certain daring.
Thanks for daring.
I don't care what you just wrote
^^^ up there - is not in retaliation
for your not caring for what I wrote.
I just don't care! I wouldn't have cared
anyway, if you hadn't written. When I read
what you did write, I couldn't care less.
It reflects well on you that you wrote
(if not what, necessarily). It shows
you cared, to show what you don't
care for. Perhaps,
you even dared to hope that I'd care
what you shared! If so though, whoa
Nope!
It's not that I don't care
what anyone writes,
it's more
that opinion self-adjusts on sight
in worth and scope, automatically
between give and take. When you can SEE
someone's trying to hand you a hard, dry pellet
of rabbit scat - is THAT what you care for?
Take it then! Pop it like eminem
but beware such habits build
bad breath. Again:
From your side, it reflects
well on you that you cared to show. You dared
to share, and it reflects more tellingly even
you felt what you had there - is something
others, too, could care about. Why?
Because it is yours? They might care
for that reason?
It makes sense you care, anyway. And I
have no problem with your offering. We all
show ourselves in what we give.
Takes a certain daring.
Thanks for daring.
Friday, May 10, 2019
see me through
I want to be perfectly clear on this.
Clear to the point of transparency.
Clear as invisibility. I don't
want
you
seeing me wrong
you see.
At the risk
that you'd see me at all, I take
this chance to make all of this clear
to you
I know you can't hear me,
but will you believe?
see me through, please
see me through
Clear to the point of transparency.
Clear as invisibility. I don't
want
you
seeing me wrong
you see.
At the risk
that you'd see me at all, I take
this chance to make all of this clear
to you
I know you can't hear me,
but will you believe?
see me through, please
see me through
bell the cat
The cat's in the room, again
- no, out. Gone off without leave,
seemingly. Never leaving at all
- just gone. And oft, you can't tell
if she's here. A curt, thorough search
of her favorite haunts
just reveals where she's not,
just now.
She moves
without notice, taking
small pride in the room
for doubt she slips in
to fill, and the one
that she leaves behind,
empty and just as still, except us
huge lumbering bums.
What things! She's very
aware where we are, and it comes
quite insultingly. A touch put out
about it, she finds. We're
no fun to stalk
at all.
There is no rush, but
there never much was
for a cat among humankind.
When we see her mid-motion, it's only
a favor - example she's trying to set
with a slink, sinuosity forward
and bored intent, antenna-tail
high, to switch and to swish
informatively. "See? See!
See this?
This behavior?
Beautiful, don't you think?
It's how to walk.
I swear, you would never
have known, but for me.
You'd never have seen this
at all, if I hadn't put on
deliberate stroll, as I chose
to show you this. Otherwise
I would wait. I habitually do
- for the wide, black bands
your attention holds in.
I just get up and leave,
I'm aware of them.
So are you.
But the difference is I
am aware with ease.
Still I cared enough,
or at least this time,
to try,
to teach you a thing
or two, by and by. Dear kittens
you're not going to last in this world.
Someone's going to snap you up - and then
who'll feed me?" A touch hurt
in the dignity, poor little girl.
She concludes her walking speech
and leaves. Even letting us see
her go. Her name
is bell,
she moves silently.
We can tell.
More than that,
we cannot know.
- no, out. Gone off without leave,
seemingly. Never leaving at all
- just gone. And oft, you can't tell
if she's here. A curt, thorough search
of her favorite haunts
just reveals where she's not,
just now.
She moves
without notice, taking
small pride in the room
for doubt she slips in
to fill, and the one
that she leaves behind,
empty and just as still, except us
huge lumbering bums.
What things! She's very
aware where we are, and it comes
quite insultingly. A touch put out
about it, she finds. We're
no fun to stalk
at all.
There is no rush, but
there never much was
for a cat among humankind.
When we see her mid-motion, it's only
a favor - example she's trying to set
with a slink, sinuosity forward
and bored intent, antenna-tail
high, to switch and to swish
informatively. "See? See!
See this?
This behavior?
Beautiful, don't you think?
It's how to walk.
I swear, you would never
have known, but for me.
You'd never have seen this
at all, if I hadn't put on
deliberate stroll, as I chose
to show you this. Otherwise
I would wait. I habitually do
- for the wide, black bands
your attention holds in.
I just get up and leave,
I'm aware of them.
So are you.
But the difference is I
am aware with ease.
Still I cared enough,
or at least this time,
to try,
to teach you a thing
or two, by and by. Dear kittens
you're not going to last in this world.
Someone's going to snap you up - and then
who'll feed me?" A touch hurt
in the dignity, poor little girl.
She concludes her walking speech
and leaves. Even letting us see
her go. Her name
is bell,
she moves silently.
We can tell.
More than that,
we cannot know.
stone
There's a stone that you hold
in your mouth, in speech.
It doesn't exist: it is
round and flat
where the riven and cleft
streams and rivers of words
you have clearly outpoured
all your life have rounded it.
Sound as fact: on the sides
and top, and flattened beneath,
this curve, that opening drop
- all the nicks and tics
of consonant cut, and swells
and upwells and fulls of vowels,
the shortened stops and tucks,
the pieces of sense that don't
show up, and never are missed
by familiar ear - are down
to the shape
they did not teach,
when they taught you here. But
say,
I can tell where you're from,
can't I?
And maybe in part
what I think of you! All by the stone
which you carry in mouth,
to shape all your words around
what's true.
in your mouth, in speech.
It doesn't exist: it is
round and flat
where the riven and cleft
streams and rivers of words
you have clearly outpoured
all your life have rounded it.
Sound as fact: on the sides
and top, and flattened beneath,
this curve, that opening drop
- all the nicks and tics
of consonant cut, and swells
and upwells and fulls of vowels,
the shortened stops and tucks,
the pieces of sense that don't
show up, and never are missed
by familiar ear - are down
to the shape
they did not teach,
when they taught you here. But
say,
I can tell where you're from,
can't I?
And maybe in part
what I think of you! All by the stone
which you carry in mouth,
to shape all your words around
what's true.
That sick, twisted fit
That sick, twisted fit
so thrilled we found
has been cut clear and quick
into sacred ground
where we vowed that we cared
what we came here for.
I'm not sure about us anymore.
I'm not sure about any of this.
The cross you bare like a weapon
engraved, embossed - I'm meant
to recoil from? I suppose
it is.
I suppose you think you've won.
I suppose you have.
I suppose it's war.
I'm not sure about us any more.
You can arch your back you can aim
your hips, you can rock and writhe
and depend on it, well if the you fits
I will wear and bear
up as well as you wish,
and whom shall care?
I was glad amazed
to discover your tracks.
To believe we fit
and pretend to match,
but as perfect as we've
never seen before,
I'm not sure about us any more
so thrilled we found
has been cut clear and quick
into sacred ground
where we vowed that we cared
what we came here for.
I'm not sure about us anymore.
I'm not sure about any of this.
The cross you bare like a weapon
engraved, embossed - I'm meant
to recoil from? I suppose
it is.
I suppose you think you've won.
I suppose you have.
I suppose it's war.
I'm not sure about us any more.
You can arch your back you can aim
your hips, you can rock and writhe
and depend on it, well if the you fits
I will wear and bear
up as well as you wish,
and whom shall care?
I was glad amazed
to discover your tracks.
To believe we fit
and pretend to match,
but as perfect as we've
never seen before,
I'm not sure about us any more
Thursday, May 09, 2019
long confidence
All guilty lies
Are now burned clean
All guilty scars
Are glistening
Like glossy lips
between such kiss
As only guilty lives
could miss,
As only guilty truth
could bring
And you
By now,
you could never betray
the idea of you
that you've given me
How I well know,
no. You,
by now -
somehow, could never betray
what you've given me
wow
Oh, these innocent marks
we've been and gone
so coldly conning
and charming on,
such cunning and wrong
and graceful gulls
we've been, each
easily duped by swells
and grifters and wits
- we've also been,
so sharp and dull
'til we spot our tells
- obscured by all
of these webs to spin
the game, the plan
may refuse to gel
And you
By now,
you could never betray
the idea of you
that you've given me
How I well know,
no. You,
by now -
somehow, could never betray
what you've given me
wow
oh, no
Are now burned clean
All guilty scars
Are glistening
Like glossy lips
between such kiss
As only guilty lives
could miss,
As only guilty truth
could bring
And you
By now,
you could never betray
the idea of you
that you've given me
How I well know,
no. You,
by now -
somehow, could never betray
what you've given me
wow
Oh, these innocent marks
we've been and gone
so coldly conning
and charming on,
such cunning and wrong
and graceful gulls
we've been, each
easily duped by swells
and grifters and wits
- we've also been,
so sharp and dull
'til we spot our tells
- obscured by all
of these webs to spin
the game, the plan
may refuse to gel
And you
By now,
you could never betray
the idea of you
that you've given me
How I well know,
no. You,
by now -
somehow, could never betray
what you've given me
wow
oh, no
the unbetrayal
I ate the idea of my own foot
once, it
was delicious, and the aftertaste
haunts.
I stopped telling lies when I realized
truth
was about the same in value, plus
it insulates you. I constructed
echo chamber of my own design,
I refuted invitations to join
my kind.
I can teach how to
not do
any such stunts
but
I can't teach
myself. Which is
what I don't want.
once, it
was delicious, and the aftertaste
haunts.
I stopped telling lies when I realized
truth
was about the same in value, plus
it insulates you. I constructed
echo chamber of my own design,
I refuted invitations to join
my kind.
I can teach how to
not do
any such stunts
but
I can't teach
myself. Which is
what I don't want.
Wednesday, May 08, 2019
drawing class
I majored in art;
that life drawing class
I took was a revelation. I defy
you to take that class
with that professor, those
classmates and those models
and not wake up bare weeks into it
to how beautiful
human being is
physically.
Because
you will be
sitting there halfway
through a session, and you will
have lavished and worked and pored
over the drawing on your board.
Half the time drawing upon it
furiously, sometimes with
the eraser, the other half
drawing blind almost,
in dim glimpse by lower periphery,
looking up and away
to your subject,
who is by no means
an object. And then the professor
over your shoulder. “That’s beautiful.”
And you look down,
taken aback.
It’s beautiful.
The textures,
the values,
the volumes,
the shadow,
the lines picking out spare frame
and tender sags, the
defeated posture half-sprawled,
half-risen to look for hope, or
death. Yet
the one person who walked in
that day, and stripped off
was never your idea of beautiful,
then. Or whatever
your idea of beautiful was
at the beginning of the semester
- though several earlier models
sure were!
(The models for this class ran
the gamut; an important part
of the lesson, I think.) But the drawing
is beautiful.
You were working so intently,
so hard on it in the small time
you had - couple hours?
Ninety minutes? You didn’t see.
You raise your eyes and look,
and see.
Maybe for the first time in your life.
How beautiful is one single human being
right there in front of you.
If you’d notice. Beautiful
in vulnerability. In hope, in fear. In attitude
and posture, and every way they hold themselves
can be beauty. Or in how else
they may hold themselves: the anger
and distrust,
suspicion they flash
across face and arms, the threat
of harm - here can be much
to find ugly. It is in
how we hold ourselves, often
in reaction to how others have held
or hold us, or we think they do.
But so too can beauty be,
from the same source. Beauty
is not in the eye, but in the hold. Of the beholder
and the beheld both. It is in
and between how we hold
ourselves.
In the appearance itself, at rest
and unmoved? There is even there
much to move you, but
there is noting at all to conclude.
So nothing to judge.
that life drawing class
I took was a revelation. I defy
you to take that class
with that professor, those
classmates and those models
and not wake up bare weeks into it
to how beautiful
human being is
physically.
Because
you will be
sitting there halfway
through a session, and you will
have lavished and worked and pored
over the drawing on your board.
Half the time drawing upon it
furiously, sometimes with
the eraser, the other half
drawing blind almost,
in dim glimpse by lower periphery,
looking up and away
to your subject,
who is by no means
an object. And then the professor
over your shoulder. “That’s beautiful.”
And you look down,
taken aback.
It’s beautiful.
The textures,
the values,
the volumes,
the shadow,
the lines picking out spare frame
and tender sags, the
defeated posture half-sprawled,
half-risen to look for hope, or
death. Yet
the one person who walked in
that day, and stripped off
was never your idea of beautiful,
then. Or whatever
your idea of beautiful was
at the beginning of the semester
- though several earlier models
sure were!
(The models for this class ran
the gamut; an important part
of the lesson, I think.) But the drawing
is beautiful.
You were working so intently,
so hard on it in the small time
you had - couple hours?
Ninety minutes? You didn’t see.
You raise your eyes and look,
and see.
Maybe for the first time in your life.
How beautiful is one single human being
right there in front of you.
If you’d notice. Beautiful
in vulnerability. In hope, in fear. In attitude
and posture, and every way they hold themselves
can be beauty. Or in how else
they may hold themselves: the anger
and distrust,
suspicion they flash
across face and arms, the threat
of harm - here can be much
to find ugly. It is in
how we hold ourselves, often
in reaction to how others have held
or hold us, or we think they do.
But so too can beauty be,
from the same source. Beauty
is not in the eye, but in the hold. Of the beholder
and the beheld both. It is in
and between how we hold
ourselves.
In the appearance itself, at rest
and unmoved? There is even there
much to move you, but
there is noting at all to conclude.
So nothing to judge.
Everybody's Thor
I realize I'm a lot more Thor
than I ever thought back in the day
when he kept pretending to be
a super-serious humorless
cripple with an M.D. and
woo Jane with stern words, I
was like "Who is this guy? Is this
the wit of Asgardians," but how wrong
I was forsooth! He's just a big fun
guy! Not a manchild as he's called,
but a puppygod of some sort! Embarrassing
to realize wry deep absurd truths about
how one grapples joyously with one's life
to the death, from a dude dressed
as he quite fitly does. For him
anyway, I'm not going to cosplay it.
I always saw myself more as the Vision:
calm, cool to cold, stern and precise
with better powers. He could go rock
hard in a thought and just STAND
THERE, or, in another thought
of lightness and speed, he'd flit
through the very solidity of the world
- like it weren't no thang! But
they kind of messed him up. He acts
all goofy and peculiar, like
he doesn't understand them
humans. As if their ways
aren't sensible to an android. Well,
maybe that's realistic, I don't know
- but they always made sense to him before. He was all
"Yeah guys, act how you know. Wanna see me walk through
a wall!" HELL YEAH, VISZ!
That's more my attitude. But it did give me
a cheap geek thrill the way he manhandled Mjolnir
like it weren't no thang. "Here, Thor"
He observed off-hand on the hand-off. "It's business
time, and I expect you need this."
Turns out no
He only thought he did.
Seems like Thor could teach an awful lot
of us about ourselves, and worse
appears to have
done, so.
than I ever thought back in the day
when he kept pretending to be
a super-serious humorless
cripple with an M.D. and
woo Jane with stern words, I
was like "Who is this guy? Is this
the wit of Asgardians," but how wrong
I was forsooth! He's just a big fun
guy! Not a manchild as he's called,
but a puppygod of some sort! Embarrassing
to realize wry deep absurd truths about
how one grapples joyously with one's life
to the death, from a dude dressed
as he quite fitly does. For him
anyway, I'm not going to cosplay it.
I always saw myself more as the Vision:
calm, cool to cold, stern and precise
with better powers. He could go rock
hard in a thought and just STAND
THERE, or, in another thought
of lightness and speed, he'd flit
through the very solidity of the world
- like it weren't no thang! But
they kind of messed him up. He acts
all goofy and peculiar, like
he doesn't understand them
humans. As if their ways
aren't sensible to an android. Well,
maybe that's realistic, I don't know
- but they always made sense to him before. He was all
"Yeah guys, act how you know. Wanna see me walk through
a wall!" HELL YEAH, VISZ!
That's more my attitude. But it did give me
a cheap geek thrill the way he manhandled Mjolnir
like it weren't no thang. "Here, Thor"
He observed off-hand on the hand-off. "It's business
time, and I expect you need this."
Turns out no
He only thought he did.
Seems like Thor could teach an awful lot
of us about ourselves, and worse
appears to have
done, so.
Sin List Update
I'm a glutton for PUNISHMENT.
But only because I love correction.
But only since I can get so little of it!
For years I got it all the time,
and grew by leaps missed and bounds
erected, and so pleased and thriving
in learning how to come correct.
So thin on the ground these days,
so scarce. Correction
You have to sniff it up
and around, and deep
between and try to lap
it and get SMACKED
for trying. "Trying to lap ME?
Stay on the track, Captain America!
Your shortcuts aren't enhanced"
It's a sin. Too
much.
Pride, for preference, I take
in something other than myself,
which would be weird. My self
is the thing geeking out
like a spaz of wonder at
all these other things!
Proud of that? I'd be indignant
to think so, it's an embarrassment
of riches I'm proud of, and they are not
my riches! For the richest part,
I'm just proud for all whose riches
they are - the skies and air
and every living thing plus
the light-spinning wheels of stars
frozen-frame by our moment of long
slow attention in them. Sin?
Not really. Long as one's pride in them
doesn't grow so big it could come between
you and the infinite, and occlude or eclipse
the infinite. That's all sin is
really.
But pride too big in such things does lead
to
Covetousness, of them. Or
Envy, of those who have them, or possess
attributes of excellence you wish they'd choke on
and die.
Wrath! Is a huge problem but thankfully,
only at ideas, which - disembodied as they are
and incarnate as I am - I can only disembowel
and eviscerate through a mind holding them,
going in through the eye, the ear possibly
with so surgical a katana strike the poor dear
- the idea-victim, who half the time doesn't
even WANT it, turns out - is untouched, unmoved
in the moment. Only comes back later, "Hey!
Remember that idea we were discussing?
I killed it." GOOD
Probably dead for ages in there, you were
playing marionettes, it reminded you of nostalgia,
back in an idyll where believing such things
creeped you out, but in those days, was confused
for comfort. Security.
Sin? No not really. What else? Kevin Spacey
and his damn bloody fingers all over everything
GREED!
Hahaha well. Perhaps a touch, for the things I'm
all proud for us all getting to know and see
and play and have. Wait, is Greed one? Or am I making
it up in a confusion of others (Envy, Covetousness,
JEALOUSY? Jealousy can't be one. Half these sins
are all the same thing! Somebody making lists
back in the day had a problem. Jealousy
cannot be on the list, it's covered. Surely
Sorry
Pride
Covetousness
LUST - AHA!
Anger - WRATH! AHA!
Gluttony
Envy
SLOTH.
We've covered them all but sloth!
I never used to have sloth, but I seem to have
gotten lazy along the way, though I don't love it
or really place it in an important orbit
between myself and the infinite. Still
I need to watch that one.
Overall, though, it seems I'm covered
But only because I love correction.
But only since I can get so little of it!
For years I got it all the time,
and grew by leaps missed and bounds
erected, and so pleased and thriving
in learning how to come correct.
So thin on the ground these days,
so scarce. Correction
You have to sniff it up
and around, and deep
between and try to lap
it and get SMACKED
for trying. "Trying to lap ME?
Stay on the track, Captain America!
Your shortcuts aren't enhanced"
It's a sin. Too
much.
Pride, for preference, I take
in something other than myself,
which would be weird. My self
is the thing geeking out
like a spaz of wonder at
all these other things!
Proud of that? I'd be indignant
to think so, it's an embarrassment
of riches I'm proud of, and they are not
my riches! For the richest part,
I'm just proud for all whose riches
they are - the skies and air
and every living thing plus
the light-spinning wheels of stars
frozen-frame by our moment of long
slow attention in them. Sin?
Not really. Long as one's pride in them
doesn't grow so big it could come between
you and the infinite, and occlude or eclipse
the infinite. That's all sin is
really.
But pride too big in such things does lead
to
Covetousness, of them. Or
Envy, of those who have them, or possess
attributes of excellence you wish they'd choke on
and die.
Wrath! Is a huge problem but thankfully,
only at ideas, which - disembodied as they are
and incarnate as I am - I can only disembowel
and eviscerate through a mind holding them,
going in through the eye, the ear possibly
with so surgical a katana strike the poor dear
- the idea-victim, who half the time doesn't
even WANT it, turns out - is untouched, unmoved
in the moment. Only comes back later, "Hey!
Remember that idea we were discussing?
I killed it." GOOD
Probably dead for ages in there, you were
playing marionettes, it reminded you of nostalgia,
back in an idyll where believing such things
creeped you out, but in those days, was confused
for comfort. Security.
Sin? No not really. What else? Kevin Spacey
and his damn bloody fingers all over everything
GREED!
Hahaha well. Perhaps a touch, for the things I'm
all proud for us all getting to know and see
and play and have. Wait, is Greed one? Or am I making
it up in a confusion of others (Envy, Covetousness,
JEALOUSY? Jealousy can't be one. Half these sins
are all the same thing! Somebody making lists
back in the day had a problem. Jealousy
cannot be on the list, it's covered. Surely
Sorry
Pride
Covetousness
LUST - AHA!
Anger - WRATH! AHA!
Gluttony
Envy
SLOTH.
We've covered them all but sloth!
I never used to have sloth, but I seem to have
gotten lazy along the way, though I don't love it
or really place it in an important orbit
between myself and the infinite. Still
I need to watch that one.
Overall, though, it seems I'm covered
Tuesday, May 07, 2019
the coming fix
What we used to be
is not what we've used
to be.
Where we've come from
is not even close to how
we have finally arrived,
but here we are now.
Whatever we've shaped
and made of ourselves,
in every mood and tone
and cut and size,
in every guise
and drape of cape
and dress, at last
we are finally right.
In the middle of this:
the fix
Everyone has
altogether
accidentally
made up to
fight.
So we all suspect
and guess
is not what we've used
to be.
Where we've come from
is not even close to how
we have finally arrived,
but here we are now.
Whatever we've shaped
and made of ourselves,
in every mood and tone
and cut and size,
in every guise
and drape of cape
and dress, at last
we are finally right.
In the middle of this:
the fix
Everyone has
altogether
accidentally
made up to
fight.
So we all suspect
and guess
Monday, May 06, 2019
from beyond the grave
Everywhere
is beyond some grave,
surely? Look
just look at all
the cemeteries. It would
be good to consider such things,
before it's too late
to heed the stings
as your spirit swells up
with cheap malaise, and
the doctor can't tell you
which or why, but I tell you
now
from beyond
some grave,
you shouldn't have asked
the doctor guy
is beyond some grave,
surely? Look
just look at all
the cemeteries. It would
be good to consider such things,
before it's too late
to heed the stings
as your spirit swells up
with cheap malaise, and
the doctor can't tell you
which or why, but I tell you
now
from beyond
some grave,
you shouldn't have asked
the doctor guy
Thursday, May 02, 2019
oh my patience
I have tried all the patience that people have had,
and let me tell you
your patience is bad.
Have you tried my patience? Fizzy! But sweet!
Chug-a-lug up, buttercup
because we have meat. And my patience
pairs perfect with beef. You could not ask
a
better
palate cleanse. I will swig and I'll sip
and I'll smile broad. Are we not
such friends? Could we not
pretend? I have no damn patience at all
for pretense! Unless - are there rules? Game on?
I thought we were sitting here understanding
ourselves! I apologize, dear
I think you won.
and let me tell you
your patience is bad.
Have you tried my patience? Fizzy! But sweet!
Chug-a-lug up, buttercup
because we have meat. And my patience
pairs perfect with beef. You could not ask
a
better
palate cleanse. I will swig and I'll sip
and I'll smile broad. Are we not
such friends? Could we not
pretend? I have no damn patience at all
for pretense! Unless - are there rules? Game on?
I thought we were sitting here understanding
ourselves! I apologize, dear
I think you won.
Nobody cares
If anyone really wanted to help, they could probably just help.
Help whether you asked for it or not. Far as they know, you not
asking is a cry for help that sounds loud. If they really wanted,
divine what you need
and give it! Not taking no thanks no
for anything but their welcome. No, thanks
you. If they really
wanted
to.
Help whether you asked for it or not. Far as they know, you not
asking is a cry for help that sounds loud. If they really wanted,
divine what you need
and give it! Not taking no thanks no
for anything but their welcome. No, thanks
you. If they really
wanted
to.
Wednesday, May 01, 2019
super star dork
I wan-na be
a super star dork
get paid on the stage
in unmarked bills
just to scatter 'em out on the front three
rows - a bribe and a bid,
as priorities go. I would do my Art
people would be "WHUUUT"
Some adorable fart with a great big but
and a bigger what if
and an either/or
you might poke out the left
or the right eye for
People would be "OHHHH"
That was whuut what was
They'd explain it to me
I'd be like Ho
Lee
Sick?
Buzz!
You have just figured out
what that whole bit
meant! If I'd only known
now
I'd have done it then
but with just that touch
of an added doubt
that comes from just knowing
what you're on about.
a super star dork
get paid on the stage
in unmarked bills
just to scatter 'em out on the front three
rows - a bribe and a bid,
as priorities go. I would do my Art
people would be "WHUUUT"
Some adorable fart with a great big but
and a bigger what if
and an either/or
you might poke out the left
or the right eye for
People would be "OHHHH"
That was whuut what was
They'd explain it to me
I'd be like Ho
Lee
Sick?
Buzz!
You have just figured out
what that whole bit
meant! If I'd only known
now
I'd have done it then
but with just that touch
of an added doubt
that comes from just knowing
what you're on about.
Cold play
Cold. That was
cold.
Cold as a thrown stone
from the sinlessly sinuous hand of God,
and about as just.
That stone is called earth and look out
it is flung
in an arc curving now
just fair
to smite all of us,
every one.
You got it!
I got it!
I'll meet you there
at a run
cold.
Cold as a thrown stone
from the sinlessly sinuous hand of God,
and about as just.
That stone is called earth and look out
it is flung
in an arc curving now
just fair
to smite all of us,
every one.
You got it!
I got it!
I'll meet you there
at a run
abrupt!
If we got here any earlier,
we'd have to make up lies to cover
how we covered so much ground so fast
between two pairs of eyes.
we'd have to make up lies to cover
how we covered so much ground so fast
between two pairs of eyes.
Enter The Debunker
It's high time this whole
Hitler-gunshot-cyanide suicide bunk
got debunked right the straight hell
out of the ostensible bunker
where it occurred. Oh, make no mistake
he was in there
that's where they found him. One look
at the mess and the chief inspector (a Brit
the lads all called "Shirley") said "This
is a little too neat. Too tidy. CLEAN IT UP!"
And they did. And so the case was closed, but
what nobody knows
and what I can't prove
is just what I'm trying
to tell to you.
I did it!
How, you ask? Brilliant question. One of the top five,
including such famously unanswerable others
as "Why?" Why, I invented a conceptual time
machine, of course! In record time, which
(of course) granted just one wish.
And it was this:
Go back to Hitler
find him in time
use the rays of the time wave to
turn him into a baby and KILL HIM
by AGING HIM INTO MIDDLE-AGE
with those very same time-rays! The overspill from the machine's
operation
of my just one wish, which
even way back then were already contracting
Again.
To snap me back to
where I'll be when I get there!
SEE YA! But not - just - yet
I had no time
to make it pretty. In fact
I was in sweats and a stained tee! Ack
du lieber, hand me a Luger or
better yet, lager.
Anyhow, no time for anything else, and
observing middle age didn't seem to be
killing the prick fast enough for my taste, spotting
a too-convenient, tell-tale cyanide pill
and HIS OWN LUGER, which I was even then
whipping - also conveniently! You have no idea
Out of my own jacket! Which
I guess I just told you I wasn't wearing one, but
quantum physics is the bomb. Trust me
sometimes stuff pops in and out - like I was about to myself!
Case in point.
I felt it, the one-time-familiar easy-peezy
queasy shimmer and clench closing in, my pocket
of swollen universe about to COLLAPSE,
- split - and disgorge the change!
I acted so fast fact preceded act, for once. There was
no precedent for what I chose to do (should've saved
the President arguably) Stuffed
that capsule of poison down our bully-boy's gullet!!
and shot him in the head, DELIBERATELY placing
his own Luger. Scrupulously not wiped clean, my prints
on file for all posterity, if anyone picked up on it
or cared to - what're
they gonna do?
Try me?
Try me. I did it. Where were you?
But where was I?
About to begone, task yet half-narrated!
Oh, that where was I. I was
"DELIBERATELY placing his OWN LUGER"
in the WRONG DAMN HAND (whichever one that was, I had to act
fast, no time for tricks and research, but I figured correctly
putting the wrong hand on the right gun could seal the deal - everyone
would be like, "This clown
couldn't even do THAT right")
and shot I him in the head,
three
times.
Wait.
By "this clown" etc., I meant
"This atrocious dickwardly back-ass whack wannabe Germanic
(Austriannic?) hero-mythos-slash comic book supervillain
trope-namer couldn't even kill himself right! He used
the wrong hand guys! Hahahahaha what a chump, look at this,"
oh my and so on.
I wasn't saying they'd be canny
and shrewd enough to spot my involvement,
yet so simultaneously DENSE as to peg ME as
"this clown"
who
"can't do anything right," unbelievably missing the obvious
subtlety of me making Hitler look like the screwup he famously
was anyhow! Hard to miss that one!
And then, job done, well
I collapsed into an overlapping of spacetime
like an infinite puppydog tongue
as was at that point in time, my wont.
And I was back!
Where I belonged.
Wearing a tuxedo.
Holding a sick-ass Walther PPK carved from a Doc
Mart's black boot polished bar of Irish Spring,
and whistling an eerie cross between the tune
from the ad, and a spy theme
that shall remain nameless, but
hauntingly familiar, you know?
All of this is set
to happen in like
ten minutes. I am losing my mind
trying to find where I left my tuxedo,
I haven't even dressed yet! I better hit
the shower, first too
jeez
You CANNOT
show up
to your one-and-only
surprise blind death-date with Hitler
STINKIN'.
It's not done.
So anyway.
Now you know. I left a lot out,
but we'll see how it goes. I really
haven't the time,
you understand.
Hitler-gunshot-cyanide suicide bunk
got debunked right the straight hell
out of the ostensible bunker
where it occurred. Oh, make no mistake
he was in there
that's where they found him. One look
at the mess and the chief inspector (a Brit
the lads all called "Shirley") said "This
is a little too neat. Too tidy. CLEAN IT UP!"
And they did. And so the case was closed, but
what nobody knows
and what I can't prove
is just what I'm trying
to tell to you.
I did it!
How, you ask? Brilliant question. One of the top five,
including such famously unanswerable others
as "Why?" Why, I invented a conceptual time
machine, of course! In record time, which
(of course) granted just one wish.
And it was this:
Go back to Hitler
find him in time
use the rays of the time wave to
turn him into a baby and KILL HIM
by AGING HIM INTO MIDDLE-AGE
with those very same time-rays! The overspill from the machine's
operation
of my just one wish, which
even way back then were already contracting
Again.
To snap me back to
where I'll be when I get there!
SEE YA! But not - just - yet
I had no time
to make it pretty. In fact
I was in sweats and a stained tee! Ack
du lieber, hand me a Luger or
better yet, lager.
Anyhow, no time for anything else, and
observing middle age didn't seem to be
killing the prick fast enough for my taste, spotting
a too-convenient, tell-tale cyanide pill
and HIS OWN LUGER, which I was even then
whipping - also conveniently! You have no idea
Out of my own jacket! Which
I guess I just told you I wasn't wearing one, but
quantum physics is the bomb. Trust me
sometimes stuff pops in and out - like I was about to myself!
Case in point.
I felt it, the one-time-familiar easy-peezy
queasy shimmer and clench closing in, my pocket
of swollen universe about to COLLAPSE,
- split - and disgorge the change!
I acted so fast fact preceded act, for once. There was
no precedent for what I chose to do (should've saved
the President arguably) Stuffed
that capsule of poison down our bully-boy's gullet!!
and shot him in the head, DELIBERATELY placing
his own Luger. Scrupulously not wiped clean, my prints
on file for all posterity, if anyone picked up on it
or cared to - what're
they gonna do?
Try me?
Try me. I did it. Where were you?
But where was I?
About to begone, task yet half-narrated!
Oh, that where was I. I was
"DELIBERATELY placing his OWN LUGER"
in the WRONG DAMN HAND (whichever one that was, I had to act
fast, no time for tricks and research, but I figured correctly
putting the wrong hand on the right gun could seal the deal - everyone
would be like, "This clown
couldn't even do THAT right")
and shot I him in the head,
three
times.
Wait.
By "this clown" etc., I meant
"This atrocious dickwardly back-ass whack wannabe Germanic
(Austriannic?) hero-mythos-slash comic book supervillain
trope-namer couldn't even kill himself right! He used
the wrong hand guys! Hahahahaha what a chump, look at this,"
oh my and so on.
I wasn't saying they'd be canny
and shrewd enough to spot my involvement,
yet so simultaneously DENSE as to peg ME as
"this clown"
who
"can't do anything right," unbelievably missing the obvious
subtlety of me making Hitler look like the screwup he famously
was anyhow! Hard to miss that one!
And then, job done, well
I collapsed into an overlapping of spacetime
like an infinite puppydog tongue
as was at that point in time, my wont.
And I was back!
Where I belonged.
Wearing a tuxedo.
Holding a sick-ass Walther PPK carved from a Doc
Mart's black boot polished bar of Irish Spring,
and whistling an eerie cross between the tune
from the ad, and a spy theme
that shall remain nameless, but
hauntingly familiar, you know?
All of this is set
to happen in like
ten minutes. I am losing my mind
trying to find where I left my tuxedo,
I haven't even dressed yet! I better hit
the shower, first too
jeez
You CANNOT
show up
to your one-and-only
surprise blind death-date with Hitler
STINKIN'.
It's not done.
So anyway.
Now you know. I left a lot out,
but we'll see how it goes. I really
haven't the time,
you understand.
out of me
I had to get it out of me.
Not 'cause I want help. Deal with it.
Not to apologize, or con
commiseration soft along. Or even
to get sympathy. I have long had
too much in me, I had to get
it out.
That's all.
Don't overthink the suddenness
of fading crack a tick ago, and
oh
it
is
the
BALL! WHAT FORE
It's coming in
so slow? My reflexes is must just
kicking in! I'm thinking clean, connected
thoughts much faster than the nerve impulse
can reach my limb!
quick quick! jerk up to catch
as catch has once or twice been known
to do - or, failing that, to block
think fast! Just duck! No - does it quack?
SMACK! NO! OW! OH MY EYE! My orbital
knocked into space
from downward blow
past Asian paper-lantern
glow
oh what a world
oh what a waste.
I guess you know
I didn't
uh,
MEANT
to smack high arc to face, I just
I meant
I had to get
it out of me!
To go someplace. Who knows!
I never meant the moon
come back
I'm all alone eight billion
almost strong
on perfect day
that breaks again, again without
the tune you hum. Your body
does, from every cell
you spring. You sprung.
you were my astronaut,
I never meant
to put you on the pad
I launched you from
I hate
this hat. To wear
black hat ball cap, but man.
I am the villain
of the piece. Who knew? Why did
no one tell me?
I miss,
I bless,
at least you are
so far from me
we're each released.
A threat no more, I can't
hurt you, nor and/or me
the way we used to do,
without (apparently)
either of us noticing.
Was I so blind to never see?
Or you so mute, or me again
so deaf? I thought
we loved us. But
in retrospect now
history suggests
enough of hating it to flee.
I guess we did our best.
It must have been more bad
than I have ever seen, or
ever known. I did not see
or know at all. And
that
is why I dropped the ball.
It's on me now. And always was
I only couldn't tell, until
I got it out of me. I guess.
Don't fret (or care, my love)
that space
freed up inside
will never be
to let.
Not 'cause I want help. Deal with it.
Not to apologize, or con
commiseration soft along. Or even
to get sympathy. I have long had
too much in me, I had to get
it out.
That's all.
Don't overthink the suddenness
of fading crack a tick ago, and
oh
it
is
the
BALL! WHAT FORE
It's coming in
so slow? My reflexes is must just
kicking in! I'm thinking clean, connected
thoughts much faster than the nerve impulse
can reach my limb!
quick quick! jerk up to catch
as catch has once or twice been known
to do - or, failing that, to block
think fast! Just duck! No - does it quack?
SMACK! NO! OW! OH MY EYE! My orbital
knocked into space
from downward blow
past Asian paper-lantern
glow
oh what a world
oh what a waste.
I guess you know
I didn't
uh,
MEANT
to smack high arc to face, I just
I meant
I had to get
it out of me!
To go someplace. Who knows!
I never meant the moon
come back
I'm all alone eight billion
almost strong
on perfect day
that breaks again, again without
the tune you hum. Your body
does, from every cell
you spring. You sprung.
you were my astronaut,
I never meant
to put you on the pad
I launched you from
I hate
this hat. To wear
black hat ball cap, but man.
I am the villain
of the piece. Who knew? Why did
no one tell me?
I miss,
I bless,
at least you are
so far from me
we're each released.
A threat no more, I can't
hurt you, nor and/or me
the way we used to do,
without (apparently)
either of us noticing.
Was I so blind to never see?
Or you so mute, or me again
so deaf? I thought
we loved us. But
in retrospect now
history suggests
enough of hating it to flee.
I guess we did our best.
It must have been more bad
than I have ever seen, or
ever known. I did not see
or know at all. And
that
is why I dropped the ball.
It's on me now. And always was
I only couldn't tell, until
I got it out of me. I guess.
Don't fret (or care, my love)
that space
freed up inside
will never be
to let.
delight in anger
It is not enough, o dispassionate one.
Equanimity, evenness, measured pace
even at the marathon sprint you run
- with never a hair up your
out of place, it is not.
Enough. Though you crow delight
in wonder and curious interest, and true
- you are never bored, were you?
And here! There has been no doubt
at your so-sincere - you protest,
and in fact any fool can see that
clear.
Why do you pout?
It is not enough. Insufficient use
of emotion placed over the ample
and rational juice of your good
and sufficient cause. Reason alone
above all without any flaws, and feeling
above even that. Over it. And
meaning
all through. Like some infinite
rakishly jaunty-cocked
angle-knocked hat! A cleverly-botched
counterfeit - pretty bad, and
so true, it seems government-done!
For reasons like that alone,
accepted all over
by
everyone.
Pleased? Proud? Delighted, eh? Perhaps?
Your sweet trick? Has lost its way? No sham
- but so surely a con
no one buys. Or takes
so much as a snatch
of that puppy-dog stuff
all toad, snail and wag
tucked between your legs.
Never buys, only begs
to differ, or oftener:
simply for more. Like that. Your sighs
always just their size. Encore!
Certainly not paid for, though
or worn. Like new,
your suits and fresh
pieces, ensembles tried on,
unbespoke, but so fit!
So praised - adorn wardrobes
- curiosity cabinets built
in and for unusual ways. No,
nobody buys, and they pay
even less. And they pay for it.
As you surely could guess. Freely-given
is easy gain to freely-ignore. While you cheer
and you weep, in the stands, turned out
for all those
you love, so much faith you doubt
they could possibly lose, and they DO
- all those peeps who you'd love to keep
so very well. But you can't, loved one.
So you weep. It's a funny and rum
sort of punch in the teeth.
Through catastrophe eyes you can see,
see? See all you like
-it-or-not. Right smack on the field, and
you don't like it much. What you see
all the yield of what
you have not even done. Never once, even
told-you-so'd any, in sum or parts. As a hole
goes deep - just look at the score. They will not
climb their way out of this once more. It's as if
you have not the wit
to know, even so plain, rudimentary tack
as I-told-you-so. Which everyone sticks!
And does not stick out, but yes,
you have not the wit. Or the brevity
- tell you that much! Through your yells
and your whoops slip sigh and groan,
you bemoan "SEE?
See!" WHY do we!
DO that.
Do we kill and we force and we poison
ourselves dumb ways for fun, to show
comfort and home and trust, by the way
we bite and stab? Knowing these little
arch familiarities
are not enemy-stuff, but for loved ones?
Just ask dad! Or. Mom! Sis, bro and wife
ask anyone's cousin who took their own
life that is why this is why we do these
things! To show we know
you
are so strong
you could fly without wings
Or is it a fact we can't help
ourselves - or
for that matter, anyone? Oh I eee,
oh I owe
humanity so. The debt that I stand in
is six feet thick, and no fun
to account for my lack
of interest therein. And I'm one
inch short to see out of it.
Good thing I'm not lying down!
I'd fit! Dasn't anyone SEE,
see?
The some better way to play in and out
through it, and not care who'd win
if the game were fair, or even
if we were game for rules? Have I been
not clear on the whole true dare? There's a way
That
clearly
does work, and could go? Don't they SEE?
See, no. They don't.
Never will. Since you can't. You do not
persuade.
You do not
convince. Not enough. Your play
has no practice in it. The fact
that you do not try does convict
of sincerity. And they judge you just
so, but would you take the word
of so stupid a con, even ex? FOR FREE?
Of course you would. But would they?
Still yes. Entertainment value
you can only guess. Of the thing
you've made
of yourself - you insist,
or at least you DO
only use just about half
of the risk. Of the it. Of
potential's clue. Of that frightful,
distorting, infurious stuff - you are right
to emotionally rue. You must feel
more than that! For sure. You must
bring it all. To delight
in a world so horrible hard
is unreasonable, unless
you see clear to
score deep rents with a force
you deplore, and find it in you
to
delight
in
wrath. In anger, a frolic
In pity
In hate
- a full-bore hard-partying
pageant parade, with one giant and lonely
balloon animal - a giraffe, dragged behind
in a tumbled deflate. With smart barricades
from the public fund. With punch
and with pie you will grow
to hate you can have
and eat, too. And they all will believe! then
coming from you
Equanimity, evenness, measured pace
even at the marathon sprint you run
- with never a hair up your
out of place, it is not.
Enough. Though you crow delight
in wonder and curious interest, and true
- you are never bored, were you?
And here! There has been no doubt
at your so-sincere - you protest,
and in fact any fool can see that
clear.
Why do you pout?
It is not enough. Insufficient use
of emotion placed over the ample
and rational juice of your good
and sufficient cause. Reason alone
above all without any flaws, and feeling
above even that. Over it. And
meaning
all through. Like some infinite
rakishly jaunty-cocked
angle-knocked hat! A cleverly-botched
counterfeit - pretty bad, and
so true, it seems government-done!
For reasons like that alone,
accepted all over
by
everyone.
Pleased? Proud? Delighted, eh? Perhaps?
Your sweet trick? Has lost its way? No sham
- but so surely a con
no one buys. Or takes
so much as a snatch
of that puppy-dog stuff
all toad, snail and wag
tucked between your legs.
Never buys, only begs
to differ, or oftener:
simply for more. Like that. Your sighs
always just their size. Encore!
Certainly not paid for, though
or worn. Like new,
your suits and fresh
pieces, ensembles tried on,
unbespoke, but so fit!
So praised - adorn wardrobes
- curiosity cabinets built
in and for unusual ways. No,
nobody buys, and they pay
even less. And they pay for it.
As you surely could guess. Freely-given
is easy gain to freely-ignore. While you cheer
and you weep, in the stands, turned out
for all those
you love, so much faith you doubt
they could possibly lose, and they DO
- all those peeps who you'd love to keep
so very well. But you can't, loved one.
So you weep. It's a funny and rum
sort of punch in the teeth.
Through catastrophe eyes you can see,
see? See all you like
-it-or-not. Right smack on the field, and
you don't like it much. What you see
all the yield of what
you have not even done. Never once, even
told-you-so'd any, in sum or parts. As a hole
goes deep - just look at the score. They will not
climb their way out of this once more. It's as if
you have not the wit
to know, even so plain, rudimentary tack
as I-told-you-so. Which everyone sticks!
And does not stick out, but yes,
you have not the wit. Or the brevity
- tell you that much! Through your yells
and your whoops slip sigh and groan,
you bemoan "SEE?
See!" WHY do we!
DO that.
Do we kill and we force and we poison
ourselves dumb ways for fun, to show
comfort and home and trust, by the way
we bite and stab? Knowing these little
arch familiarities
are not enemy-stuff, but for loved ones?
Just ask dad! Or. Mom! Sis, bro and wife
ask anyone's cousin who took their own
life that is why this is why we do these
things! To show we know
you
are so strong
you could fly without wings
Or is it a fact we can't help
ourselves - or
for that matter, anyone? Oh I eee,
oh I owe
humanity so. The debt that I stand in
is six feet thick, and no fun
to account for my lack
of interest therein. And I'm one
inch short to see out of it.
Good thing I'm not lying down!
I'd fit! Dasn't anyone SEE,
see?
The some better way to play in and out
through it, and not care who'd win
if the game were fair, or even
if we were game for rules? Have I been
not clear on the whole true dare? There's a way
That
clearly
does work, and could go? Don't they SEE?
See, no. They don't.
Never will. Since you can't. You do not
persuade.
You do not
convince. Not enough. Your play
has no practice in it. The fact
that you do not try does convict
of sincerity. And they judge you just
so, but would you take the word
of so stupid a con, even ex? FOR FREE?
Of course you would. But would they?
Still yes. Entertainment value
you can only guess. Of the thing
you've made
of yourself - you insist,
or at least you DO
only use just about half
of the risk. Of the it. Of
potential's clue. Of that frightful,
distorting, infurious stuff - you are right
to emotionally rue. You must feel
more than that! For sure. You must
bring it all. To delight
in a world so horrible hard
is unreasonable, unless
you see clear to
score deep rents with a force
you deplore, and find it in you
to
delight
in
wrath. In anger, a frolic
In pity
In hate
- a full-bore hard-partying
pageant parade, with one giant and lonely
balloon animal - a giraffe, dragged behind
in a tumbled deflate. With smart barricades
from the public fund. With punch
and with pie you will grow
to hate you can have
and eat, too. And they all will believe! then
coming from you
catch up or bust, or blush
I'm going to catch up, I say. I missed
a couple of years' worth of every day. For what?
For this. To have
to catch up. To get
to try. I am blessed
by my empty cup. No, I don't look
back
now, I look
rather ahead
hovering shoulders
above the crowd, and
probably dead. Still
walking the talk, though
stumbling well as I stutter
and putt with my nine-iron drive.
Have I ever been less
than just this much vibrantly
beating and breathing alive? Barely,
a couple of times. Laid bare
I admit now in memory - back when we all
wore clothes. But stripped bare, though,
as I now recall.
It's easier to recover that way
from the fall.
With
everyone natural,
all on a level of dignity
that would make us blush, or
one of us! Me,
I tremble to trust,
and mumble
to hush.
Trailing off (the right way?)
up the path where I lost
my rush.
a couple of years' worth of every day. For what?
For this. To have
to catch up. To get
to try. I am blessed
by my empty cup. No, I don't look
back
now, I look
rather ahead
hovering shoulders
above the crowd, and
probably dead. Still
walking the talk, though
stumbling well as I stutter
and putt with my nine-iron drive.
Have I ever been less
than just this much vibrantly
beating and breathing alive? Barely,
a couple of times. Laid bare
I admit now in memory - back when we all
wore clothes. But stripped bare, though,
as I now recall.
It's easier to recover that way
from the fall.
With
everyone natural,
all on a level of dignity
that would make us blush, or
one of us! Me,
I tremble to trust,
and mumble
to hush.
Trailing off (the right way?)
up the path where I lost
my rush.
"What For"
Are you totally out of your gourd?
I don't claim you are. I don't say
"you are" but you are so far out
of my gourd, you have left behind
the Kingdom Of Vegetables and hung
out a shingle in Fungal Realms as
- to my eye and tongue - the
wrong kind of shroom. Don't piss cream
into a soup cup and tell me "Wha's up!"
I know wha's up. Let me tell you what
for.
Howcome? Why? Because, my tart
sweet bitter little salty friend,
your sour taste in inference
implies you do not know. Indicates
you wouldn't know what for
if what five and what three
doubled up on you in the STREET
and tried to pound it into you! And I assure you
if I were walking by and saw so uneven a contest,
I'd dive in without hesitation. Try to help!
You'd deserve it for the dumb look you give!
A look I will not take askance - from you
or anyone, hey. It's your look. Give it,
work it. Take it back to the shop, maybe
the new ones this year are purrin', and frankly
yours ain't winning any contests. Are you out
OF GOURDS, generally? You, so loudly claiming
greengrocer status, freshest delicious stuff
in town to be had at your stall, where you stall endlessly
monkeying up signs with unnecessarily-places apostrophes
and scare quotes like a stereotype? Such as
"BOO! GODS' DEAD!" - Freedreek Vilhelm "The Neetch" Finklesburg
...all in vainglorious hopes of distracting notice from the emptiness
of the bins, shelves and - distracting notice indeed! Take your sign
down! Wheel that empty cart away and quit stalling.
What,
do you suppose that sign signifies, to the hungry public,
about your wares? Simple. You must be Simon! And no effin' buddy
is going to take your say on what constitutes a gourd, when clearly
your'e "fresh" out. There.
That outta the way, I will commence.
To tell you what for.
"What For."
I don't claim you are. I don't say
"you are" but you are so far out
of my gourd, you have left behind
the Kingdom Of Vegetables and hung
out a shingle in Fungal Realms as
- to my eye and tongue - the
wrong kind of shroom. Don't piss cream
into a soup cup and tell me "Wha's up!"
I know wha's up. Let me tell you what
for.
Howcome? Why? Because, my tart
sweet bitter little salty friend,
your sour taste in inference
implies you do not know. Indicates
you wouldn't know what for
if what five and what three
doubled up on you in the STREET
and tried to pound it into you! And I assure you
if I were walking by and saw so uneven a contest,
I'd dive in without hesitation. Try to help!
You'd deserve it for the dumb look you give!
A look I will not take askance - from you
or anyone, hey. It's your look. Give it,
work it. Take it back to the shop, maybe
the new ones this year are purrin', and frankly
yours ain't winning any contests. Are you out
OF GOURDS, generally? You, so loudly claiming
greengrocer status, freshest delicious stuff
in town to be had at your stall, where you stall endlessly
monkeying up signs with unnecessarily-places apostrophes
and scare quotes like a stereotype? Such as
"BOO! GODS' DEAD!" - Freedreek Vilhelm "The Neetch" Finklesburg
...all in vainglorious hopes of distracting notice from the emptiness
of the bins, shelves and - distracting notice indeed! Take your sign
down! Wheel that empty cart away and quit stalling.
What,
do you suppose that sign signifies, to the hungry public,
about your wares? Simple. You must be Simon! And no effin' buddy
is going to take your say on what constitutes a gourd, when clearly
your'e "fresh" out. There.
That outta the way, I will commence.
To tell you what for.
"What For."
antiscience discovery
The discovery
of antiscience, heralded
in drips and drabs
by drips and drab-dressed
gents and lads, just to impress
the ladies' nads,
did not impress them. Not a whit
No hair out-of-place, not-
one-bit more measurably,
favorably disposed. Or - a lass!
Displayed. Nope
sorry, nope.
Not so much
as a change in clothes.
The antiscience blokes
arose
and walked out of the hall. Protest
was not their style, or policy - but
make-and-take exception was, and
guess what they did then.
Protest! Dear me. Good job
guys! You sure
proved you,
cuz.
Just cuz. Because you had to, praps?
There's no way else
to cop the Nobel Prize, or
make equivalence
in some great ringing-bells
award you fake, inaugurate,
and proud-announce, and give,
and take, and covet. Handle
all around, and - prize,
for what it is you-say about,
and claim
as-good,
but false.
Such prize does not mean
what you claim
you think
it was.
It takes more balls
and fewer brains than anyone
should (publicly) admit
to halve by measured use
of un- and mis- and ab-
plus this
and that.
There's something loose
way up inside that place
where you don't mind
but call it one,
the pressure builds
just one toot more
before you splat.
of antiscience, heralded
in drips and drabs
by drips and drab-dressed
gents and lads, just to impress
the ladies' nads,
did not impress them. Not a whit
No hair out-of-place, not-
one-bit more measurably,
favorably disposed. Or - a lass!
Displayed. Nope
sorry, nope.
Not so much
as a change in clothes.
The antiscience blokes
arose
and walked out of the hall. Protest
was not their style, or policy - but
make-and-take exception was, and
guess what they did then.
Protest! Dear me. Good job
guys! You sure
proved you,
cuz.
Just cuz. Because you had to, praps?
There's no way else
to cop the Nobel Prize, or
make equivalence
in some great ringing-bells
award you fake, inaugurate,
and proud-announce, and give,
and take, and covet. Handle
all around, and - prize,
for what it is you-say about,
and claim
as-good,
but false.
Such prize does not mean
what you claim
you think
it was.
It takes more balls
and fewer brains than anyone
should (publicly) admit
to halve by measured use
of un- and mis- and ab-
plus this
and that.
There's something loose
way up inside that place
where you don't mind
but call it one,
the pressure builds
just one toot more
before you splat.
up the very imagination
I am the neologian!
Neologer, some say.
Diviner of ROD.
Divider of SENSE.
Dinstincter of orifice
and sphincter, alike
and between - the TAINT,
if you will,
'pon and ALL UP YUH,
language! Some scoff!
Some carp and quibble!
Some moan in denial of their very
JEALOUS THEY DIDN'T THINK OF FIRST, but
- with a broad, slurring gesture I dismiss
all of these, and they are seized
by brute remorse and sorrow, or worse - dragged
kicking and wailing and gnashing BACK -
BACK to the very imagination
from whence I deduce they came. Denial
would be paranoid in so peculiar a case. Yes,
I admit it.
I deny the very idea.
An idea that can or wouldn't be better put
than in words such as flip and flit
to the nonce, for the moment's need
- SHOULD be denied. New words
or none! Is our cry. Whom
shall say "otherwise"? or even "INDEED."
when meanwhile declared some time ago
those words were already quite passe?
Not I.
You mistake your man, mon soor.
Go back to the top and try reading again,
to be sure.
Neologer, some say.
Diviner of ROD.
Divider of SENSE.
Dinstincter of orifice
and sphincter, alike
and between - the TAINT,
if you will,
'pon and ALL UP YUH,
language! Some scoff!
Some carp and quibble!
Some moan in denial of their very
JEALOUS THEY DIDN'T THINK OF FIRST, but
- with a broad, slurring gesture I dismiss
all of these, and they are seized
by brute remorse and sorrow, or worse - dragged
kicking and wailing and gnashing BACK -
BACK to the very imagination
from whence I deduce they came. Denial
would be paranoid in so peculiar a case. Yes,
I admit it.
I deny the very idea.
An idea that can or wouldn't be better put
than in words such as flip and flit
to the nonce, for the moment's need
- SHOULD be denied. New words
or none! Is our cry. Whom
shall say "otherwise"? or even "INDEED."
when meanwhile declared some time ago
those words were already quite passe?
Not I.
You mistake your man, mon soor.
Go back to the top and try reading again,
to be sure.
This day was from the months deduced
30 days halve September, therefore:
Sep
Tem
Ber
...must count
twenty days per syllable
in full amount. 'Twas one September
Sixty-first, November
with horror observed
it must have only been
so-called
because it 'Vembered not at all
Oct
Toe
Brr,
reduced and squeezed
to one full day and night
had sneezed, and blew
it out
of misery.
December wrapped the body up
and slapped a label on: "To: From"
and "WARNING: Do Not Open
Me"
and no one did that year. This day
was from the months deduced
not to be
eh?
Sep
Tem
Ber
...must count
twenty days per syllable
in full amount. 'Twas one September
Sixty-first, November
with horror observed
it must have only been
so-called
because it 'Vembered not at all
Oct
Toe
Brr,
reduced and squeezed
to one full day and night
had sneezed, and blew
it out
of misery.
December wrapped the body up
and slapped a label on: "To: From"
and "WARNING: Do Not Open
Me"
and no one did that year. This day
was from the months deduced
not to be
eh?
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