3rd Act

People teach you

about people.

Loneliness and Solitude

See-Saw.

Generations 

leave more than can be

taken.

Practice

gratitude & letting go

of things and people 

you were grateful for 

Once. 

Everything happens...

Burning bridges,

opening doors-

There must be more

than one way

In or out.

One way to look at it

is just that.

People need people

like signposts

for orientation.

Yet never to be 

in the same place

at the same time.

Missing and

Lost 

can be both 

alone and together.

When you find yourself...

Painting by George Hitchcock, 'Calypso' c. 1906 Google Art Project via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain. 

The hardest directions are the ones we follow

Take a left, or a right?
                          Go West-toward the ocean.
So, left or right?
                          Where are you now?
I'm in your neck of the woods.
                            I think you have gone too far.
Left or right?
                            Straight-toward the ocean.
I've come around the bend.
                            Drive-thru to the dead end.
Are there any land marks? I am lost...
                            If you keep going, you will find it.




Painting by Michael Zeno Diemer (1867-1939), Pera Museum [Public domain].

They carry no identification

The lost souls could not
have been
                -strayed-
unwillingly taken
from their way,
meaning-intention.

Did I mention
they found Us
in sad shapes too,
(round bodies in square
boxes),
what to do

about maps that don't make a clear path through
tough terrain
& letters that refuse to column, justify, paragraph
or add up to cents?

I swear atop the nameless grave,
I saw the spirits, the others
looking away, must have been
confused by their own disparate
directions toward the destination
all call
'Home'.

There was always more than one way
there and back,
although there never stayed the same.

The tree markers,
bleed and breathe,
resembling each other,
unlike the stone
every body was required
to find
a building for the soul.





Painting by George Elgar Hicks, 'Gypsy girl' c. 1899 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Perso in la biblioteca Umbertos

Leave a light on
so the bugs don't eat the books.
The grandfather clock
must be wound
so our heart keeps ticking.
Stock up on the stories
so you have many maps
and mythos to go.
The journey keeps us young,
but the last leg catches up...
You've lost me-
many times
in the labyrinth of
your enigmatic fantastic
winding fallacious folios
that make ones head spin-
Are they books or bottles
with memories as mixed
messages?
Translation tends to
misinterpret and blurs,
slurs, like tears on ink
there's a leak, (I think)
Ahh-look up-
always-the sky
knows how to read infinity
as long as your words remain
contained and
eternally with me,
I'll be happily lost in the library.


Image of painting By Unknown Dutch Master (c.1628) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Theory of Speculative Direction

If you were lost in the woods,

                                     a compass would work

better than a philosopher

                                     even if you didn't know

how it all worked

                                     At least you would get

Somewhere.

If you wanted to map

                                     the Universe one

should listen to a shaman's mantra

                                     not plot it out with an astrophysicist

it would be easier to project

                                     realms by means of real numbers

shooting from the lip, a departure from

                                     the same astral plane

                                     bound by reasonable gravity

Altering the scenery doesn't change the view

                                    from the eye of the bespoken

Plato's cave was not a practice of spelunking

                                     to new depths

or sending our souls soaring to the stars

                                     upon plummeting death and worms.

If I remember correctly

                                     the act of recalling can feel like falling, sleeping or slipping

into the abyss of mind matter

                                     a memory palace, a sin chateau,

a cabana for one's mana

                                     and other obtrusive structures

machinations are machines

Like the disgruntled grandson

                                     who built a Reverse Infinity Instrument

(a.k.a. a Time Machine)

whose Free Will Manual Transmission led him to kill

                                     the wise man he so despised

an obviously inane and obtuse conundrum

                                     based on probablies and anti-definitives

that work every

                                     ninety-nine percent of the Time

but that too was just speculative theory

Composed 6/18/15.

Image By A. Ernyes at en.wikipedia (Own work Transferred from en.wikipedia) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons of Kootenay Lake BC.