Friday, January 13, 2017

tiny affirmations


Yes
I said, opening the door.
In he came with a crooked smile
his eyes down cast-
my feet-
bare
and stood
there-
I facing him.

with first blinks and a rub of my eyes-
Don't-said he-quickly-his hand
fingering the silky nude rose
pink petals, curled tips and
composed in the tiny crystal vase.

Get up-See-'Tis better to Dream-Always.
Says he, with a warm flannel smile
(around me).

Yes,
I slept a while-
yes, it felt so good.
I don't know if I dreamt
or what it meant that my
pillow smelt so sweet and pink
like tiny crystals, maybe leaves...

Yes,
was the first word
awake.
And It was good.




Image of painting by Frederic Leighton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Flaming June (1895).

Outside cages


Why pink flamingos
and aged Scotch, all neat,
let me tell you.
So
-not listening to your Top 40,
tacky Top 10's of no clicking ends,
to slim-fit into one size
single best remedy for ADHD-Spanx-
lacy Ritalin and sucking it in and up.
Apps and crap.
No thanks to letters and breath,
there is never enough for famishing...

Though the wind chimes were hung inside
happy is not home.
Respiration. Sleep-a mystery. Love-
a labyrinth. Ex-hale kings and queens.

Keeping company in cupboards
and memories in the pantry
is conservation.
Cold storage for
Natural Disasters unanticipated calamities
to be consumed
best by poetry stocked up.

Wallpaper was a little library,
well, the glue was all edible
they became consumed this way.

And I, the bye
as a terrible host,
there are no chairs here to offer you,
shall I cut you some rug?

Sit. Stay. Spin.

It is breezy, yes.
The window is stuck wide open
so the birds can watch me
fly.



Painting By Daderot (Own work) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Elementary Watsons


Is it possible to have a predisposition to being irritated easily, is a short fuse hereditary, like being hairy? More probably-
it is a terminal condition of impatience with symptomatic rashiness,
hence the genetic reference.

It makes sense to source all flaws, same as weeds,
at the root. And again, this is more akin to original sin than I have ever been.

Ring around the Rosey, duck, duck goose, and the movements in musical chairs, the play of blame games...

We offer colorful complaints, abstain refrain and cherish precious twirled excuses,
tangled nooses for those ties that bind us back to our Pollyana
new Cleo tides. Skipping generations like stones on shallow surfaces,
convenience has been woven in.
In stitches of fabric-ated fusion by base pairs.



FOTO:FORTEPAN / Gál László [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Kin and Coils


Both a question and answer
She said it was a problem with the coil 
as though confused.

I pictured;
DNA, slinkies on stairs, kinetic-kin-esthetics
aesthetics, Mortal Coil, and machine.

I said 
circular aloud as though 
no question
could be more reduced or simplified.
I thought I was perplexing my math
by the bushel.

Preserving a zealous harvest of grapes 
is easier done than said, since raisins
are so underrated, 
I think more for me
        practicing patience.
Curing is an act of minor magic.

First in process, taking salt 
        to all open wounds
forces the nastiness to the surface,
same as throwing up in my mouth. 
The heaviest bits should stay down. 

With a sneering smile, she wanted a hug.
You'll thank me later, she said without cause,
there was no question
problems come around 
like kin and kinesics. 
Entitled to know
End.  


Photo By NASA (Great Images in NASA Description) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
Detail:The Pilot Plasma Engine. This traveling wave accelerator, being operated by Raymond W. Plamer of the Lewis Electromagnetic Propulsion Division, uses an alternating current power supply. The AC feature avoids the life limitations of direct current accelerators where electrode parts rapidly deteriorate from touching the plasma. The traveling wave accelerator works like its name. A neutral plasma of electrons and ions is produced in the source at the left. This plasma moves to the right and is accelerated by a moving magnetic field in the four black coils. Such acceleration produces thrust, perhaps enough to propel a future spacecraft beyond the Moon.Taken Jan. 1961.

Thus Spake a Prince of Prussia


Has there ever been a person who lived between
then and now, not now and then?

Dreams do this to us.

Details and physics, waves and sand, 
snow and rainbows, 
the observable highs and the lows,
It was as though fine tuning each note
explains why we dance to the song.

Transportation becomes the Philosophers Steam,
traing thoughts by voice and vapors,
and such as smoking papers
and burnt nerves 
on track. 

There is a picture of Nietzsche,
reclined with his feet on an ottoman,
his hands clutch the lapel of his wool coat
sheepishly his lower lip grazes out in view.
The smile lines say libertine and it is sad,
not needing, for want thereof
last laugh and half mast and full bore.

Mercurial man with his playmates, pretty
little penultimate Plutonians 
falling in and out of love like Spring.
He and she circumvent any obstacles 
and asteroids 
some times in line. 

Delirium, therein they concluded,
the horse, of course, and inherent
potency of white Prague.
What does not kill you did not care 
deeply enough to listen to the voices
and translate gagged passions
into fetters.

With a little apathy,
all complaints have been quelled.

This leaves room to travel.

Ape & essence, Super man, good beyond evil,
the power to will, the tragedy of birth, 
where peacocks, buffaloes and Ecce Homos roam,
these were titles of poems
I believe in ideas and insomnia never sounded
more prophetic.

The past princes would say, we continue to be
pathetic plebes
living now and then, dwelling in then and
now manual means melancholy,
machines write programs in prose
and sign 
every thing, Eternally,
Dionysus. 




Trump change


Do not bow your head in (his) dis-grace,
interest accrued in chump change
buys no-thing of value.

True-change often means –New-
and new costs more than Used;
As is, precious metals
are always worth the same
at least until common (place)-
ex(ac)cept-ing
the Gold(en) rule.

Do you have anything
smaller than a soul?

It is a mistake to make molehills on mountainsides,
due to
mudslings and crustslides...losing ground
Twenty-five billion tons of topsoil-Lost….
It is an even graver error to dwell in this dim cave
of matters that do not mingle-by proxi-mity-
with your legacy, by reach and stretch.
(Im)mortal
Good(er) is not (as) Great
(as Hate) Any More? Ignore It.

This person(ally)
is no-thing more than a fig(ment)
from a manmade tree diagram
fallen at your feet. Poison in pears.
Too ripe, too easily bruised ,rotten, to you. No thanks.
We make an easy meal for the vulture.

His story
does no harm
to the writers and plotters of Our Bio-Graphy
who will compose themselves, by comp-ass
when all  is crumbling
downhill
by erosion of (in)decency, Be-have-your
self by (in)direct (in)decisions, anything (in)different, They know.
They (always) know how clods spit out of the fan and dust always settles
Down.

Are you out there? Come closer.  Do not be sorry for your losses
or worry about what you never had secured.
You were (in) all ways broke(n), down and out cast.
Be glad you know your-
self
better by (in)tangible dreams, it seems we woke up to day
Fallen. (Not) any one is building a better tomorrow
(Again) We will shine on, any(which)way we can Rise

On Occasion. In vestment. The States of  Un-ion scatter.

Balance is a state of transition. And accountability is all-ways reconciled
in the End.

Image in Public Domain via Project Gutenberg described as, Historic Bermuda Hog Money.




Thursday, January 5, 2017

Stages of Mutilation (ad nauseam)


Never been so sick with self I could taste it in the back of my throat
most like oysters growing algae, and this me, I scream 
and she freezes like a dumb deer on the winding dark highway.
Blindly bounding, bound and blind. Why I do mind the interruption!
My way, the high road, widening and re-routing due to corrosion.
Adult servitude has made me more wild than civilized and I despise 
the empty chit-chat, predictions, philosophy of catastrophe and empty
arguments that produce nothing I would swallow, hollow-remember?
I have not made myself clear in years, the only deep lines be
on my face. And my watch is dying, I hear it on my chest at night. Laugh lines. Elephantitis of my wet ware smearing ink and I still think it might work
with some flammable liquid. That is what we do to keep warm.
Never be successful in a lifetime. Have you read any biographies lately? 
The good ones go
to better places, I think...and since I can no longer drink
myself there I swear I will 
I will
I will
I may....I mean to try to explain and this tiny truth laughs in my face,
which is why I should never stare deeply into any mirror
at those crows feet blue lies.
Shut up! I have said, over and under, through and thru synapses
shot in my head. They said; put that voice in a jar, take a walk, 
don't talk to anyone about your crazy ideas, they will die-
Dead. You're crazy ideas, You Are
not the first nor the last to go unlisted, name twisted, dumbed down
held hostage, manipulated, occupied, and easily entertained 
by self-deprecation in all its bold colorless forms. Muted.
You ugly. You can't. You ain't. Not gonna quit. Not worth
a spit, high and dry, my mouth tastes that salty green poison and 
I suck-
What would someone like me possibly do with dumb luck?
I already owe too much interest on borrowed intelligence, a smart curse,
and it hurts
but leaves no mark. SH. Self Harm and alarm bells, my squashed spirit yells, 
You win. I gag at my mocking grin, dripping bile down my chin
I can only hope to lose my inside voice. 



Painting by Yehuda Pen, Self Portrait Muse and with Death (1924) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tres (trace)

Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...