Stacking boxes

We seem to be on the right track.

Some words contains things.

We are confident that the black box

contains all the answers or the y’s-anyway

we need to know

Don't be chicken, unscramble the egg 

before the givens and ganders include

more than two lame ducks and an ugly goose.

Sharp edges, right angles, cubism

is no plaything

for block stacking children.

This black box we found is the thing

to eye-so-late

and define –objectively-we made enclosures

and watched the walls hit home.

The black box must have its corners

where all information clusters 

in tapering space...

The black hole, faucet or vacuum tube

where All

information is contained past and future

flow freely-

both true and not chosen

come together 

only to matter.

Blending by chance, choice, or

opportunity, effect, and someone said

Noise not blur...

Now, this is all there ever was,

Now, with reduced facts, take

atoms, quarks into questionable chunks

of say 100 neurons or 3 seconds-

A moment may be lost-watching-looking

For it. You are it. You cannot feel yourself spin?

I read a note for you

Inside the black box

It says where it is from-

                              there is no gift receipt. 



Painting by Adolph Tidemand [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Post Art-i-fact-o

What happened in here?

They All asked

they made Art

with what they found

with new found Purpose

They said

let us try to Make

something of This

you See more than many

Depth, behind or beyond Being inside

your Time

Frame.

What happened was-All reaction,

I’s further upon reflection,

absorb color theory, insistent as Form,

stole shape of an idea and Acts upon it.

It happens.

not all see it.

that way more for us

to take in and make out. 

Painting by Władysław Malecki (1883) (cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Light flavors

Now,

without the sun

                        overbearing

we can be

just

Honest, say don’t hurt

just

because you can enunciate

                        I can.

            I can-say it-

Now you say it

Strong like Bull-

            Head

Built like brick

            Chicken

-house-

Homeless vagabond renter, 

                         squatter be

categorically dissimilar

part Yokohama

                        by strolls through Ipanema

Say, there goes another

                        Bohemian

Fine

Young

Cannibal 

               could eat you up!

What have you to say 

that won't sting?

From where we began

Now finds us in the strangest

                        Truths.

I too prefer plums

                        To lemons. 

Painting by Hieronymus Galle (c. 1636-1646) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Composition by ear

The music tutor

Directed the pupil

Watch-Watch-My Hands-

Listen-Hear the sound-

In Here-It feels

Right-There.

and those scales rose and sank

perked up for notes to hang shapes

Of waves on passing ears-

No-No-NO-

You missed a step-

Here-skip-and where is that note

You played-out of tune-

Try to pretend you play.

and again, the pitching seas rolled,

bodies thrown together, clumped 

Whole words found themselves 

in forgotten consonants,

meaningless 

Bumbles swarm. 

Painting By Frances Hodgkins (1869 - 1947) – Creator (New Zealand; Great Britain) Born in Dunedin, New Zealand. Dead in Dorset, England. Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Was

She cringes. They knew.

Didn’t say, wouldn’t change

nothing, anything

help or hurt

They wait, mercy resides

patience, temperance,

in these, out there

touch and feel

lost and found

not looking, not seeing,

not needing, not wanting

more than, merely

her presence, her past

come back…

Painting By Félicie Schneider (1831 - 1888) (Sotheby's New York, 29 January 2010, lot 867) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The path is Brodsky

His sentences say

He never repeats them

With eye or I

How would we know?

He is only a product of

Progression, 
an obsession with freedom

Of speech and others

Sentences.

His composure, 
demure, muffled,

intonations

He shies away

From his fiction

Life. Sentences.

Written this way.

Point of Departure is too

Point of No Return.

Painting by Isaak Brodsky (1906) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wolf dreams

The  blood flows as current
through and around the brain
spilling into empty as I lay
down to sleep.

We say-Wheels Spin-
is this where we begin and end
that recapped thought, witticism, and dig
deeper as I have a conversation
with self, explaining
why Ezra Pound is not
considered
an American Hero-
although I fancy the lad,
I now understand and so
much evil clumps in corners
the sealed eyes squeeze and fold in
the car repair for son, the phone for daughter
colleges, dinners, stories and towels-
so many towels-folded, washed,
thrown down, tossed, appropriated in the rain,
picked up-creamer but forgot the bunnies
and the pain better not grow or settle down-
the ER is not OK today, I am OK, I say,
I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, I am
hear-not here,
my body belies deep breathing
and I still think
I sleep
too much.



Painting by Albert Joseph Moore (1875) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.