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.

Convice-a-versa

There was too much to say 
and no single string
to unwind the entanglement
they had become bound by.

There was no effort to try an utterance,
no thoughtless pennies lying around;
that whet glimmer gone out-thirst quenched
that kindled glow to dull grit, brackish.

Nowadays, 
they say so little about much to Be
done differently, they insist
resistance is futile, 
the pinned up smile, better
(n)ever?

And so, the silence stood for resilience,
for this speechless return, old friends 
in darkness, happenstance
this ends loneliness for this time.

Gentler thoughts could do-(no)
Better. 

Painting by By Felix Nussbaum, 1943 (https://www.tumblr.com/search/Felix+Nussbaum) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Body in motion

My heart does one hundred meter dashes,
jumping at the reloaded gun.
The infantile hairs on my skin are erect,
as though blowing at high speeds.
                 --cannot catch up to my breath.

Sporadically,
at the apex of my rib cage something feels
trapped or collapsing in origami swans,
somersaults and am sitting still

listening to the bamboo wind chimes,
low & lightly in the late-after noon shade...

There is no further of going nor
West I can go,
and a sense I cannot share this feeling
-end of the road
with anyone.

Anxious, I guess.
And I don't ask,
because I am alone.

Is it uneasiness,
I never wondered
too hard
I'm afraid.



Painting By Arkhip Kuindzhi (1842-1910), Sunlight in Park (1908) and (http://kuinje.ru/) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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.

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.