Rhetorical riddling

Do you know this one?

What is propped up like a scarecrow,
but attracts small children?
What is semi-sweet
covering up?
Don’t answer that. Let us guess,
‘x’ or N/A, or maybe D-side,
all of the above.
And if all of your friends walked into a bar,
does it guarantee
all the horses drink
some algae
grasping at straws?

One golden delicious apple lies
about where it fell from,
while one woman and one man
stand around, wondering, Who
Dropped the first fruit.

If the man in charge of expending
Energy does not spend it by the hour
is he still working at the same rate?

What is blue, but only red when emitted
erratically? Emotion.
Twenty people gathered,
All twenty wanted to be happy. They said
some were-
despite how they stood under
the influence.

How many
Left turns
did we take
to make it all Right

living in circles.

Painting by John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Cherubs cheering up

There were angels everywhere

like babies

carrying, your name,

like crows when carried by malicious wind.

Not real ones, with wings.

Figures, icons, folding feathers and prayers

soft shelter or guardians on their-
A game.

One should not believe in what one

cannot see, namely fairies or demons.
Good & Evil.

We should let these Be Both

(superstitious) (malicious) (separate)

fantasies! Alas, we gorge 

over-sated with our sponge cake bellies,
porous and too accepting.

Just a passing tickle

black flashes splash our eyes

making one look up

just to see what it could be...

Painting by Hugo Simberg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Barometric Duration

Days end, All that could happen

Did.

That said,

It all comes back to you.

Last chance to change

your mind

in my direction.

One point aimed

at your heart, a foci.

Mist. Barometric pressure.

The duck glides atop

rolling water. Surface levels

Stones skip

Hurried to land.

All was settled

where places were

Set. 



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

Wireless settings

It has been unusual, of late-

compared to panoramic pictures,

sweeping views and one you...

Were you there?

Did you hear the pacing behind?

They did not come today.

The light flickered.

Must be

something wrong with the energy...

It looks all the same golden bar or promise

and warmth and yet

no commerce or conservative estimate
would add up to good conduct.

.

The dust piles

where entropy adds up to

total homogeneity.

Waiting is a dip in tango-ment
without charge, consentual even between two posts.

These quantum jitters move on

branes hold on to frayed ends
discharged from free will.

Photograph By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer, March 1945 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Every thing

It used to be about Other Things
It was always about 'other things'.

The more you think about It,
the more It thinks about more.

Stare long enough at any thing
and you lose all light discrimination
inside those black-hole pupils.

It has been said things couldn't be worse-
something about change, smaller
but felt the same with more things
and blame.

It was cluttered with chatter,
static, white noise, white holes
and light bounces off rubber words.

If you blink now,
it will never change.
Time wiggles out of every thing.


Painting by Thomas Wijck (c. 17th century), Alchemist in his study with a woman making lace, uploaded by Chemical Heritage Foundation [Public domain or CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Benefits of Oatmeal

Murder with breakfast, a sig alert for a fatality on the 5

before noon, then murder at dinner, leftovers again

as my heavy head hits the pillow-

Murder one-more time-a crime scene.

Alibi? Where was I? Lying low, while racing through thoughts,

I can feel my pulse-and stop and start-and I wonder,

am I feeling empathy? Guilty? Ceaseless. Peaceless.

Is this some sort of social

conditioning or mental shampoo?

We have all been too close to death

by now to tell each other Murder is not new News.

Another full round moon awaits

ahead. Some body’s namesake, a chunk off

The old rock.

There is a natural selection, population control,

denizens of indifference, disinterest, in de-

sensitizing the kind man.

Now Brand New! Tried and True!

Oatmeal is good for your heart.

It’s better with bananas-if you do not mind starch

All day strong on mushy trails while mixing

Cement for filling ruts.

Routines, like rituals, are set-up hopefully.

Warm and heavy, we live despite ourselves

simply not wanting to die.

The rest is bleeding out,

One drop per second

or all the mushy stuff

That caulks our gaps and seals our

fate, satisfied

Until tomorrow.

Painting by Willard l. Metcalf, The ten cent breakfast, 1887 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A big mouth is needed to swallow the multiverse

Is the multiverse unlikely, meaning unlikable to us,
because liking multiples of the same things 

seems all too impersonal?

Do you ever get the impression that we all concoct alter egos 

because these creative blends of us, 

seem more colorful, more pleasing as when we put on airs or

our Sunday best?

In the spirit of good versus evil, 

it is in the realm of dreams that that wishy-washy haze happens
to occur to us naturally, like swirls, repetitively, relevant, fractal and

speaking to us in a language we have forgotten
but makes perfect sense.

While conversely, 

the domain of fright lurks in the mulberry shade, 

she had red nectar dripping from yellow teeth,
thick with motive 

and a mare, a black unicorn
rides across the endocarpous venom of night.

Aha! By chance

what ever shape it was, a light shone on Idea, 

inhabitants of both Inverses,
yet you are the only connection
to Brilliance.

Fear- as in pure concentration on failure,

shall break focus of the glass eyed many, 

the multitudes, multitudinous, 

appear as a collective blur, 

there must be just one
that blinks...

Inside,  

i seek connection and likeness in this

one way reflection. From inside mind shells,

these walking souls on water wheels,
were still

spinning too fast
and wet behind the ears.

Painting By Alice Bailly (self-portrait, 1917) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.