Intro-version

Things fall into place and we can safely say
gravity had a heavy hand,
although it is a weak force and spineless excuse
for why we stand up-
right

despite the pressure this places directly on
our crowns,
fashioned from sand and stone,
the weight resists the wait
reeling into terminal velocity
blurs and gives
in, collapses into itself,

and condensing, reducing what is necessary
by its lowest denomination

We still build and rebuild as if we knew it would
all work out this way,
and not that way we tried
to change the inevitable, like laws, universal
and blind,
like this dark energy displaced
with good will

things were determined
by the absence of things
accidentally
heavier than we could imagine.


Painting by Jules Charles Aviat (1844-1931) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The results are in(side)

As much as we can
plan, prepare, project,
anticipate and speculate,

none of these internal actions
guarantee consistent results,
busyness does not guarantee business,

and if these formulae were applied
to physics, they would be rejected,
expelled from the multi-verse
for lack of proof.

Then again,
on second thought,
coincidence, chance, luck, and odds
are signs, symbols we play

while pretending to know the words,
pretending our sounds can sway
life
a little more our way.

We all have just one chance,
with many potential outcomes.
Any way
we aim our intent, cast our gaze,
manipulate, edit and re-calculate our theories,

the many verses when sung all together
touch notes, tickle fancies, connect
dark matter making the inconceivable,
tangible, the noise, harmonious,
and the future full of space.


Image By NASA/JPL-Caltech/WISE Team (WISE), Rho Ophiuchi [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Abracadabra and ABC's

The plan itself-long forgotten-
was working, as every prediction
foretold
by the last of the learned.

It had been lifetimes-
long gone,
when it was learned by the rest(ing),
the dangers of knowing
too much
for thin soles to carry
comfortably.

Human touch was not the trick,
the magician preferred to work with
shiny wheels, hats, cards, cups and wands
Invoking smiles as he deftly slices
attention, willing volunteers and words.

The spell lost in translation, a dead
language
slang-shot not toward penetration, but
babbled by barbarians-again.
This entertains, now this-now and
never remembered-

None heard the chorus
of the sheeple's song before
nor sang along anymore-

Now it sounded silly
and coincidental,
entertaining and easy
to follow along.

Now, all hands-free.
What has been taken away
by sleight of hand, was never missed
soon enough-
none will understand
a word, meaning-wise.


Painting by Thomas Gainsborough (c. 1773-1777) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Putting it to Get it Together

This world 
was all pretty patterns and preparation.
We made
sense with these,
common and collective.

Why we cache and stash
something for our selves-
this is a game-keep away-such as
saving some sunny day money
you hope to forget about-but 
keep counting it in
the back-end.

Why we puzzle and play,
riddling and competing for solutions
and winners
between you and I-Or-
there are losers. Must be
unable to connect the dots,
incapable of collecting thoughts-

holy buckets, walking in labyrinths
following threads of logic
tangled up in theoretically.

It is the mystery that moves us,
to interpretation
without reason. Carry on. 

"And I wanted to examine that horoscope once more and to see its pattern, no matter how fantastic or catastrophic the prediction."

-Walter Mehring (from 'The Lost Library')

Featured artwork By Staecker (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Plan B

All had gone according to Plan-It was confirmed.
Who made the Plan?
The one with the most Experience.
If they were experienced, why make a plan?
Things don't always go-
according to Plan,
even if it has been done (before).
Is this a new ending?
It is only the beginning.
We must Start over.
In the end...
(pursuant).


Drawing By John Bunyan [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Full Title: A Plan of the Road From the City of Destruction to the Celestial City, Adapted to The Pilgrim's Progress, 1821.

A crappy map is a happy map

A map is handy
for some...
Still-just rendering space
this here: that there
(imagining is not knowing beyond
what is not seen).

This world is flat,
trapped in a map,
cornered in labels and confined in lines,
open to borders-crossing...
Still-it plans
for speculation.

I drew a map,
of no place I know-
but discovered it anyway,
and I know
my way around this place
of space, like the back of my red hand

measured by my means, not in factors of feet
walking the picket. I had to draw it before I saw
it, a map of me in this place, no free-handed trace
left to write what else
could not fit-
why did I quit?

I'm at the edge of the world.
Peering over, dripping down,
chilling off,  the trail simply stopped
mid-sentence, where the directions
should have shown, I should have known
without                           trespassing past the limits of Doubt.



Image By http://www.geographicus.com/mm5/cartographers/schoolgirl.txt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1810 described as schoolgirl whimsical Hartshorn map of Newfoundland.