No vacancies

It is the voice, or sound
as far as limits and ripples can----
as loud as the noise altogether

static, each wrinkle folds under
the aging and erosion,
older than dirt lays claim,

lighter than air, dust-skin,
settled palimpsest
on rice paper arms, 

by shreds of rags and stitches 
to cover the cold.
Shivers scream inside, 

turbidity of the spirit, malicious matters
needing shelter; brittle now
by leaves, dry twigs,

words, thorns, starlight and smoke
becalmed back to the senses
in a murmur of metaphor,

rewritten as revelation. 
Must Have.
Must Heard. 

Image credit By Scan by NYPL [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Substitute Stars

Might it be that Mars is merely winking this way, ogling in orbit
then blushed when he saw-Us-
shadowed in his ruby glare?

All this while the meager moon hides behind a curtain in the corner;
shedding layers, seductively buoyed by 
        dark energy that winds while she rests up

in the next phase, the stars seem scattered by correlation 
but brighter by chaos; letting go of the lighter matters, 
you see

Colors could care less about our splendid collections,
kaleidoscopes and metronomes,
fractals and turbines, mirrors and machines, making
        more of that 
        and like this 
one oasis in potential grants more than any one wish
deservedly.

Tiny toys, glam and glitterati, Lucy and her rocks, likes
G.I. Joe and his grenades, helplessly She lies by He
pulling pins out of her hair, stripping down to barren
        and lighting matches like flares, indistinguishable
        in the universe.

We watch, perverted and diverted in curiosity, vapidly
spreading green gasses of dank envy throughout this galaxy,
as far as stars are pointed by projection,
there will be black holes
in his story.

Image credit By NASA and The Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Details: "NASA's Hubble Space Telescope took the picture of Mars on June 26, 2001, when Mars was approximately 68 million kilometers (43 million miles) from Earth — the closest Mars has ever been to Earth since 1988. Hubble can see details as small as 16 kilometers (10 miles) across. The colors have been carefully balanced to give a realistic view of Mars' hues as they might appear through a telescope. Especially striking is the large amount of seasonal dust storm activity seen in this image. One large storm system is churning high above the northern polar cap (top of image), and a smaller dust storm cloud can be seen nearby. Another large dust storm is spilling out of the giant Hellas impact basin in the Southern Hemisphere (lower right)."

Nocturnal trees

See these
These are nocturnal trees.
Smell them.
Smell them
in deeply. Take thier scent away. With you.
They are not disturbed easily.
They are the kind
with night vision
in tones of chlorophyll

if you trust inklings, as in sense,
hints like notes of new saplings, young.

And it is simply our symbiotic nature,
a pair, apparently, a part.
These people.
These trees.
The leaves.
Branches, hands, bark
wave with symmetrical measures.

They, they, all day,
stealing each others breath away
naturally. Dancing. Aglow in green envy.
Tiny white feathers fly
the falcon feasts naturally
the tree is happy to night.



Painting by Caspar David Friedrich, c. 1819, Two men contemplating the moon, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Our Age has a certain ring to it

Your age is present-

ly showing. As we read the lines etched on your face,

Together, the watch wears a mask on your wrist

with an arrow of fate counting on you.

Anatomical karma

chimes in-time for more (chloro)phyll

istine alkaline intake.

It is high time

that the phylogenetic tree be pruned back-

wards, like a dying star, making space

anthrop(omorph)ic

by its fingerprint rings, and sings itself historically

metaphorically

birefringent.

And yes, we’ve known about all the ages for-ages

and have own our roots deep down,

fracking about, stacking our (una)wares,

and we keep coming back to the source,

of course, to the fruits and the

light between.

You’ve read it all, carved (t)here on wood,

a sign of the times in a nut (shell).

Whispered i was here (this year)

whittling a Lilliputian ring on its fingered

keepsake trunk.

Painting by Félix Resurrección Hidalgo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Want not, waste not

 We have all wasted our time here. 
Let us be brutal and honest, each and every one of us
has wasted
Time; as in
away, 
effort, electricity,
money, opportunities
and all of these were Ours to squander, 
to squat and wanting what nots.
What is more seems to 
overspend on idle luxuries,
counting pennies and pebbles 
you say are lucky asteroids.

We should be Thankful.

We could be too coddled to recognize
all this preoccupation with preparations 
and knowing ahead
it was all superfluous.
But we are busy making;
deals, wishes, messes and mayhem,
money, babies, titles, costumes, trinkets, headway 
and art, a start at something real...Really?
We could do more to untangle our neural nets 
stuck up in sticky anxieties, worries
or not...some like it wound up that way.
And nouns hold more weight than necessary. 

As a rule, nothing is certain
to be 
Good
except
Art, really. 

Painting by Pieter Symonsz Potter (circa 1597/1600–1652) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Satellite

Pair, not pare, as if we needed two

to know communication is necessary

to Foxtrot or Tango binary is Zebra.

We ask only to mishear the confusing

theories or holes in our black clad alibis

for why we were here, inevitable and

loving no matter what sound it makes,

it needs a forest to muffle and cover us

under the pitch-not Vanta Black-not-yet-we shall see

and still sense something deeper is out there...

            Let me ask. No.

            Since you seem knowledgeable-

            Do you think we look cool, all lit up or have we

            lost track

            of trends? Colors can be tricky.

            It could be a culture thing, a sign of life, in slushy seas

            that contain multitudes of whale hymns and plankton

            choruses from eons ago, it goes, it goes,

            (never mind, I don't know the words)

We have a half a million tiny satellites hovering around us,

moons, rocks, bacterium, the hum-dingers

tinier than ten cent meters, that do five hundred dollar dashes---

in a rocket sneeze planned projectory that resembles

the ideal arc to release a stream of (consciousness) these; could be

Defined as:

1. ) a natural body

2.) a device

3.) a branch office or alternate location

4.) a subservient follower of another (led/lead)

5.) a country under domain

Of Another Aliens or

404, Page not Found.

Artwork by Henri Théophile Hildibrand in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, 'Around the Moon' (1872).

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.