Flick-her

Opposites attract each others

Curiosity

At first sight

Rapture is often mistaken for 

Attraction,

an alternating current-

Notice the friction...

Sparks are not always a promising sign,

nor an indicator of warmth,

as in

A promise to burn.

Painting by Martin Ferdinand Quadal (1736-1811), 'By the light of the candle', c. second half of the eighteenth century, in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Spell

Nobody practices
Magic anymore,
Other than for
Amusement.

We are losing
our skills while being
focused on
what went wrong.

Who knows better.
We know.
We do not like taking medicine.

All doctors begin
Believing
that all of our inoculants,
all cures were right here,
waiting to be
spelled out
on the tips our of tongues.

There is a familiar smell
growing stronger
Outside of the lab.

It was always Life or Death.
This time
A muse meant
Healing.
Some words are harder to swallow.



Artwork by Paul Klee, 'Fish Magic' c. 1925 in the Philadelphia Museum of Art [Public domain].

ROI

He looks forward to
a cold beer
after balancing the books
all day.

She looks after
the home and kids
before they fall apart
again today.

He questions
if she has done enough,
She answers,
Dirty laundry is never done.

His job is Important.
Her role is Obscure.

His time is well compensated.
Her life becomes poorly defined.

The tension to stretch
makes them both
recoil
at the thought of
broke(n).

She asks him about his day
now that he is relaxing,
he tells her about the stress.
No wonder
He does not
ask her
the same.

Eventually, he passes out
cold.
She checks in warmly,
to see if he needs anything
more.
He spends the night
breathing heavily.
She treads lightly
earning her commissions
in Time.

He will be right where
she left him.




Painting (still life) by Gerret Willemsz Heda, c. 1642 in [Public domain].

Light-years

The mid-September moon
rests its heavyset bulb over in the West,
while the new days sun
stirs behind the
Eastern shoulders.

The sky mixed the lights
just so-

-no conclusions could be made
mid-stroke.

What feels inexplicably
right about certain alignments
gives us false hope
that the observer ultimately
affects changes.

There is more in a moment
to grasp
than our primal hands
can hold onto.

The season changes
its mind-
even if,
the movements
were always the same

-the differences became too small
to notice
the rate of spin
unravels
in astronomical units.


Painting by George Hemming Mason, 'Harvest Moon' , c.1872.

May I borrow your skill-set?

She still looks at me
that way,
One day...

Take it in while you can.
I have always felt this
slipping away...

Passive-aggressive is oxymoronic,
aren't we all
both (hyphenated)?

Having the Midas Touch is not
the same as Pyrokinesis
but ignites a similar spark.

We never have any-
thing for long
enough to use the words;
Forever, Eternal, Always...

Things come and go
and its lightening to know
it has all
been done
before.

She still tries
to change
her outcome
by crossing lines
and parting ways.

No effort is wasted
judging
by the time it takes
to reach a point
of no return.



Painting by William Moore Davis [Public domain].

Costdom

Like seat assignments and maximum capacities,
for safety and simplicity sake,
there must be reasonable accommodations made
so there is sufficient room
for growth
without
hitting the ceiling, too soon, bursting through
and considered too metamorphic
to remain in your designated space.

It is a default
mode of ours
to do first
before
we did anything
that could be our fault.
So we don't...

There is no way to go back or over
without losing something in front of you.

Stay in line. Stay home. Go online.
Pretend to be anonymous and famous.
Pretend is what we do before we know
how to be.

If you move around too much it scares people,
they will call you a gypsy,
as if they could catch that curse.

Freedom never is
expensive,
and always costs more
than we carry with us.





Painting by Louis-Marie Baader, c. 1885 in [Public domain].

On Spinal Tap

Books talk together.
I have heard this.
You have too.
You see,
amidst sentences
not (in) between
each other but by reference
to me, not of
but For…
autobiography,
the stories write themselves
into serials.

Footnotes are added at the end.
All the words are the same
type-set in New Order.

Of course,
it has all been said before,
and yet
it seems as if nobody is really
on the same page,
or reads
between the lines,
between covers
under the sheets
on the walls.

How we prop up
the spines
tells more
of our posture
than the Titles
given.
What can be
gleaned from our
rough-deckled edges?



Painting by Giuseppe Crespi, c. 1725 in [Public domain].