Visit with a vampire

Open and wide, not quite terrified,

cobalt and steel too delicate to coin those piercing eyes.

She knows secrets-not yours of course.

She feels fear-for someone.

It seems the light falls softer after all these years,

or forgiveness just called up from the understudy.

These days, I find myself liking the girl with the smallest lips,

more and more,

precise instead of narrow, these days

she has changed, but those wisps of lips remain

barely red and sealed.

Most days she irritates me-lividly.

Those same two snapped purse lips in pink

never bold enough to communicate, much less 

accentuate or attract attention, pathetic and meek.

All of the time I am reminded they are enough

to say too much, and though never again,

I say again, and again I will pause-at my reflection. 

Photo By Unknown (Life time)-First Selfie? 
The original uploader was Tsukiakari at English Wikipedia. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Treading in week sauce

"Only thirteen more days"..."If I sleep it will go by faster"..."next week I will get my license"..."I can't wait until"..."not this week but the week after"..."are we almost there"...

"when will we go?"

(life lines)

Does it seem like a fair agreement to you 

that we are unable to read the fine print 

until the ink is dry and we've agreed to live

this way...before we know how to arbitrate?

(tug-of-war)

Now that I read in Anthropocene

dialect, it seems to say:

You have been given four thousand three hundred

and some odd weeks to spend-

In total. 

You have been granted just one ball on which

to do it All.

Spend this wisely-

there is no saving.

You may keep

Nothing.

Some portions must be traded for sleep

and eating your own words. 

Take it all in and then promptly let it all go

to show progress and more or less, make more with less

until you think you have the hang of It, feeling the slack.

(a rope)

It may read like a disclosure,

I will take you as I made you-the rest 

is what you do with It.

(a knot)

In portions, we cut corners and try to 

walk the shortest line in distance by diameter,

it all comes around-again.

(a bow)

May the most deserved rise on Sunday,

marking the start of something new

weekly waiting in circles of seven 

waiting to get on the short list they call 'Heaven'

while dwelling on the never do wells, sex sells

guilt tells All

(a noose)

All you get-Terms-It read, non-negotiable. 

You will have it all on this one ball-

All rolling faster as it passes apogee, Its gravity

growing as It approaches just two thousand weeks

left on this tiny sphered soul, daze taking toll

I roll over redemption until next weak. 

(a skein)

Painting by Paulus Lesire (1611–after 1654) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Standing Ovation

Now we will see 

                         what comes next

by unfurling progression 

                         or Nows in succession.

Pick one,

put it in your pocket,

feel it with your fingers

every now and then,

until its edges smooth,

and you use it for warmth.

This Now could Be

more valuable later, grow on you

by inflation of your reflection,

                        mirroring idea in light,

this is why it startles us 

                        in unexpected color,

a stroke of magenta not man made,

                        Now speechless,

too beautiful to save.

Photo credit By Unknown photo: Mcowkin (Lychakiv Cemetery) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Stroke by Genius

What changed you, are there some credits 

                                                 you should roll?

Was it James or Pablo that altered Steins view,

smartly, she said Henry, but we see reality by Picasso,

who chose distance to close in his view, 

                                                 making imagery true

deftly in paint and tone and on monotone, she drones on

in her oboe wind; Williams drinks down the Dionysus wine,

loose lipped, they slur together...same tune, 

                                                  sung the wrong song.

Was there a moment you became you?

Who was there claiming responsibility for all 

that you are, you are, yoar, no more non-sense,

blaspheme by contest, in jest, we protest and 

                                                 already we have infested 

too much to undo, not saying enough, playing tough

                                                  and rugged,

this is New, as good as-gold-as good as dead, and it was 

                                                   Good.

Where sparks once flew, the artist extinguishes with 

                                                    billows of blue, it will turn-.-

Image credit By Wide World Photos [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Forecasting rain in inches

Step 1) Observe

The atmosphere thick,

we could feel the rain,

almost hear it coming...

While waiting it was only fair

to summarize the bottom line

for the accountant that doesn't

count fiction, the paperbackless

bookkeeper-maths read or black

not grey matters.

He is given by charitable donation, 

two whole words he's never reconciled

to the penny, namely Time and Memory.

Step 2) Hypothesize

Balancing Proust, with pi and infinity,

he admires my interest in chaos theory

from afar

thunder marches up the mountains,

finches scatter in the meadow below,

this feels like dark matter I imagine

filling in corners, spackle, sealing gaps-

clearly, this thinning and spreading

cannot be considered conservation...

Step 3) Test

The moon inches away,

Orion loosens his belt,

in this Age, the ewer overflows its rim-

we notice displacement-

forgetting about the rain and rising water

all around us.

Step 1) Observe

 

The mind may be mysterious 

most simply because we do not have time 

to solve definitively for X.

Some sentences add up facts, like Faulkner

in august, Proust in jest, all the rest in pieces

to be recalled, summoned as messages

for the neuroscientists

who seek the spark of dendrites in lights,

detonations via regional locations,

wondering why we memory...

Step 2) Hypothesize

It is Situational Awareness.

This is a problem for space

and here I stand pinned 

on this arrowless ray, today

marking my words

for later...

Step 4) Conclude

Those slippery days, segments of totality

some times get away.

We are irrational and grateful

gravity is given without question.  

Photo credit By NASA on The Commons (Barbara Askins, Chemist) [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

"(1978) NASA hired Barbara S. Askins, a chemist at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center, Huntsville, Alabama, in 1975 to find a better way to develop astronomical and geological pictures. In 1978, the Association for Advancement of Inventions and Innovations named her the National Inventor of the Year for her invention of a process that restored detail to underexposed negatives that would otherwise be useless. In 1978, Barbara Askins patented a method of enhancing the pictures using radioactive materials. The process was so successful that its uses were expanded beyond NASA researchers to improvements in X-ray technology and in the restoration of old pictures"

Chit for chat

Who are you talking to? or what are you talking about?

Nobody. Everything.

If 'Nobody', then aren't you communicating to no one about Nothing? 

Why waste your precious time? 

It occupies-my (precious) mind-some-times.

Who has Time for all that? reading? writing? listening? to 'Nobody'...

What else is time for?

Work. Some Thing. 

So, writing, and reading and listening-these are all                leisurely-un-activities

-easy would you say? not Work.

Yes. Of course. Everyone knows this. No.

How does Everyone know? Did somebody tell you this?

No, Nobody. I just heard it somewhere. Everything productive is work. Work is a productive thing.

That works...for some...productions or some things. I read that nobody listens anymore,

you have proven everybody wrong. Unless I am wrong.

You are right. 

Painting by Károly Ferenczy, Engaged in a conversation (1912) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Humble Home

Sow and germinate our Pride,

stretching our will and want to cover

what we made need-later. 

Iniquity, I admire this perfect little life 

I have made

to dwell in and upon,

check in and out as I please...

What it seems-better to me-is my reality

I forget...why did I come here, compelled-

so I step away, hide things from myself,

to discover If 

I like those memories,

Truthfully.

Like you, before me,

I see anew at half way through-

though it was forced upon me 

by reflection,

Virgil left a note saying 

the rest is up to self sufficiency

Trust me

in finite, it is not complete.

Not for me.

So proud I am, but ineffective.

Standing here before you,

not knowing why, unable to convey

all the answers in art, the way I see it-

it pleases me enough to persist, as though

amour-proper was more than acceptable. 

Painting by Sanford Robinson Gifford [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.