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Artwork by Wassily Kandinski, 'Improvisation Gorge' 1914 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Flox

The black sheep and black swan

Do not bother splitting hairs, as in, ungathering

Letting go, and making it

into something new 

by sheer luck-no gander

Bears resemblance by proximity. 

Image credited by Percy Benzie Abery [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Cold and hard like cash

Ha! What money? Don’t I look hungry-

Enough, with only skin and bones

The mother poet is simply a conduit

For care.( a.k.a.ATM), logistically

Someone had to buy the groceries 

and gasoline.

Of course, electricity must be paid and the internet

is always on, even with power bars,

despite attempts to unplug everything.

No money was any-

more than a thing to get another

thing or things.

Finally, detoxified and rehabilitated,

I breathe freely,

but it costs me my life.

There is no green growth in the wallet.

And every morning, there is money to be put in boxes,

sorted, split, and aggregated from valid sources.

So it was not me eating money or homework, or flesh, or words,

it was paper, fiber, DNA, dinero

And dang it-I remember having it

and not needing it. 

Painting by Wilhelm Gause, c. 1911 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Layman terms

A single handful
of random people
really
understand astrophysics-
particularly excluding women
that choose cosmetology
over cosmology-
when trying to turn back time.

Look inside the steeple,
only this many people
read poetry.
They gather to create volume-
mass,
in order to absorb the familiar
echoes of shared words-
also known by
Belief.

Nobody reads anymore
between the lines,
along the marginalia,
the mean matches the median,
rounded to zero.

At least there seems to be
never enough
Time
to explore other dimensions
completely
and related matters
in(di)visible as a (w)hole.





Artwork by Charles Demuth [No restrictions or Public domain], 'Roofs and steeple' c. 1921 via Wikimedia Commons.

“Beam me up, Scottie!”

He was changed

in more ways than they will say.

A year away will do that to a man.

Genes are the conditions we share,

more than hand me down denim.

It seems seven is a stellar symbol

to mark the rate of change.

(Inspired by forthcoming study and official announcement by NASA)

Photo credit By NASA/Robert Markowitz [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Concerning: Generic Water

In 1986,
we could drink out of the tap

and it was considered barbaric

               (well water as it was)

but it was so good.

That was there, this is now

that everyone drinks in disposable 

pervasive clear canteens.

In 2018,
there was mass poisoning by the sterilizing-

worst case scenario-better safe than sorry so 

saturated with leachating preservatives 

used as a precaution.

Inevitably,

pieces dissolved, as they tend to do

(entropy) 

         in manufactured self-containment-

well, people and plastics became one,

bonded.

In the eighties,

I remember walking home, wading in the creek.

My musty Vans tied by their laces to my backpack strap

after school, Genius, I thought, 

bottled water, readymades, ant farms, crystal gardens,

pet rocks, canned air, and jarred fireflies sealed with a kiss.

I ingest the red woods and taste bliss.

In 1978,
at the grocery store,

the generic brand of anything 

was white or yellow, the basic packaging.

It was good enough, cheaper even

to not say everything.

Also, 

my mother told me I always wanted a toy

and I would toddle up to strange men,
                      (also grocery shopping) 

and ask them if they were my daddy.

Today,
I still return from the grocery store without
everything I need.

My kids asked about the Mexican men posted up

outside Home Depot(s), 

I told them about outside labor

          (fathers on back-order) and say

if Toy’s R Us had this (for lazy parents),

they would still be in business.

Nine-tenths of the time,

poverty and water obey the laws
of thermodynamics.
Both are
Being and Event. 

In 2018,
I am grateful for everything that I never had.

She oft-quoted Nietzsche with knowing

where it came from or

it made me stronger.

I cannot see everything my body does for me, thankfully.

It would be terribly distracting to have transparent packaging,

I believe this would make everyone less appealing.

In 1989, 

I can clearly see my naked feet under the flowing water

of the Little Bear Creek,

rippled sun rolls over the enlarged mole
atop my left foot,

my soles are both slippery, I notice

how the liquid moves in a cool hurry

                 but only I move the stones.

Yesterday

I thought of all the Springs passed,

and my own mothering nearer to

reaching the sea, it has dawned on me
finally,

we are all temporarily employed

Here 

with our shoes, our guns, our molded plastics,

plain packaging

we call watertight-

forgetting this too

is subject to corrosion. 

Artwork: Лесной ручей. Весной. 1890, холст, масло, 75х56 Forest creek. Spring. 1890 {{Creator:Grigorij Grigorjewitsch Mjassojedow}} {{PD-art}} From http://lj.rossia.org/users/john_petrov/96740.html

Professor

He spoke of the same humbling
Revelation
As if he had just learned it
himself
forgetting he had said this
every time I met him-

The first time
it was
news (to me)
Now, he says
it as Truth.

It may be so
fascinating, even true, however,
there are reasons
it is
he will never know.



Image credit by Metropolitan Museum of Art [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.