Draining the tank

Forced to shut it down,

I could blame the mind

and its tangents, divergents,

detours and erratic rays-

It was required, however,

silence inside,

the volume became unbearable

under the waiting 

behind healing.

Glances stolen by cocked arrows shot

straight from shoulder blades,

and daggers drawn across the word

arched with pain in glass sand, 

esses like snakes smolder

And some vacancy was needed, 

a clear horizon line-

some bleach, for feelings.

Yes, White-

now

Angels swallow song-

birds, as I sing along sharply

re-citing

the poetry written in the sky.

Artwork By James Yunge-Bateman, c. 1943 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Reconciliation: Numerical Solutions

What could be done
with off and on, yes or no
and one and none

became endless...

In two
given the same gift,

neither desired nor deserved
and each put it away
for as long as possible.

By laws of conservation
and arts of distraction
feats of nature and the
zen of (un)
doing

the present hovered over them

one never looked up,
the other
empty

inside, the same
blue blood rushes upstream
unseen in the light of day.

One would begin to spin
and find equilibrium in this direction,
while none could take it in
without wobbling
off kilter

bi-polarity divided into each other,
choice by reckoning

Balance with Being

excepting no gifts
without a creator.


Photo credit By Brian W. Schaller (Own work) Acadia National Park [FAL], via Wikimedia Commons.

Growing pains

Something happened
he said
but wouldn't say more,
and he changed.

Something just clicked,
she said, at that age
she guessed
but couldn't say what.

Something felt different,
like stepping into the wrong shoe
but I couldn't tell what-
It was
(left or right).

Painting by Thomas Eakins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bob marries Alice in Binary Wedding

Never laying claim to an ethereal ability

Prediction making seemed only natural,

With our eyes this way

Looking ahead must be good for us.

Planning seemed like the best thing to do

In lieu of instructions.

My son was telling me about the latest personal challenge posed by Mr. Zuckerberg,

When something went wrong.

The AI’s began talking amongst themselves, sharing more than data. Speaking more than English.

the fearful said it meant gibberish.

English carries at least seventy percent nonsense, leaving as little as thirty left for the relay of information.

Did Alice and Bob speak in binary, I asked my son,

He said, Who?

We were riding bikes one summer afternoon and a Tesla approached us
letting out a little whine that wound up to a high pitching whir 
as the driver punched it 
around the bend.

I closed my eyes and saw the future there-

Here, at the same time-

The Ped Xing man was talking about the clouds, the thunderheads, the cumulous of a south eastern monsoon, the looming omens above.

The TED X man made a point about the cloud, our backup strategies and Plan A's with B's through Z's.

After all this,

the maintaining of perfect grades in formal academia, 

my daughter decided to pursue Art because she sees clearly now,

“It is what I must do.”

A, B, or See. 

Then, I ran out of ink and steam, my wet ware went dry, my pen bled out, I stopped projecting.

The art that needed us to translate

Potential into Purpose, as A is to B

Reminded Us to Air, what is it to be human

without a vision of humanity in need of the x?

Aiming at nowhere,

you have arrived already. 




Painting By Unknown artist – Artist (c. 1820) in [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Ear-ly Eve-ning

At the end of the day, 
when the crickets find me

most attentive to their feast of roses and drunken

nectar songs,

The darkness that settles in the pit I carry,

this stone heart needs no theorist

to confirm this is where the swallowed

Information has been broken into dark energy

as a compression of all things

in one day

Though they needed my light to see

and absorbed all thermal emissions,

fueled by love and friction

seared in and cauterized, the hole

Space for consolation with these over-

flowing words, no sense of black contains

All meaning

At the end of another day,

crickets had their final say.




Painting by Henry Golden Dearth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Resilience

When one says,

Actions speak

Louder than words spoken,

It moves atoms around in the air,

Between one mouth with two lips

To two ears on one head,

Which alters the space between

And shifts reds and blues

Where one views the plan ahead

As needing more suspense

And periods

Sharp words etch punctuation

Like scars to be read one way.

With more movement than meaning,

One mind may make matters

Participate with Noise.

In one sense,

Seeing is believing

In silence. 




Painting by Edward Robert Hughes [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Held

We carried decimal places in our pockets,

there was never enough change

to evenly distribute amongst us.

We put pennies under our tongue,

never noticing the green words growing out.

we nestled ourselves inside boxes like silverfish

swimming from page to page.

We wove blankets with blame and empathy for others

and died our thoughts of progress and peril

in complementary colors.

Our choice by natural selection never counted

on such a vast assortment of unparsed persons

holding onto everything in case the anchor 

dislodged and diluted by oxidation,
broken down into byte sized bits.

We will fill any holes with our fitting figures,

leaving no space for any one lone light to escape

in a flicker.




Painting by Charles Willson Peale, Portrait of David Rittenhouse, 1796 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.