Implementation

This pen writhes
hisses and spits
poison darts
from the bow of my fingertips.

I wrestle and choke
it down
on an empty
page
the feeling bleeds through
the collected pulp
smearing the white sheet.

Against bone,
the pressure to cave in
begins
at the first period.

Etching the paper
so that complete erasure
is not an option. I strangle
the words, Go On,
in the process.




Artwork credited by Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, 17th-19th century [Public domain].

Watch your Tome

I am holding it.

It has soft deckled edges
as I desired.

And it is small enough
with a hard protective shell
to fit in a woman's purse,
even if women are wearing
updated backpacks
to make them look
younger,
I suppose,
judging by the cover.

The cover is just an entry point,
if interested.

I hold its
girth and heft
knowing it is more than mine.

In crimson foil shapes,
I recognize the letters lining up
down the spine
as my own.

It moves me
to turn the page
while cradling this
creation and holding it
to life.

I can smell it
as though it were my own
perfume, never the same
sinking in
to different skin.

I am holding
these things
accountable,
tangible,
reliably
resulting
in heavy thoughts
with soft deckled edges.


Painting by Master of the Mansi Magdalen [Public domain].

A4 in B-tray

Certainly, not the first female
to have been betrayed
in this way.
And we are told to throw up our
arms
and we are told we should
Celebrate
how far we have come
making progress,
as far as equal rights and
equal wrongs
will come along someday,
even if we pay to play,
it costs us more
than we have to spend
finding a balance between
bankruptcy and wealth.

If we take away
only what
serves us,
we may not crave
revenge for the last
course.




Painting by Johannes Vermeer, 'Lady and maid servant holding a letter', c. 1666-67 in [Public domain].

The Big C

Judging by the looks of you,
I am okay.
I will live
with this.

Good or bad never announced their intentions.
Blessings wear disguises and often underneath
is a curse.
Curses only tell us,
there are bad words.
Save your prayers for the good words.

We all have this disease.
How do I know
I am:
middle-class-near-poverty-independently wealthy-
broke, whole-some-a little
pretty-creative-ugly-short-average-sexy-smart-
except/accept the artistic tendency-
to never finish-
And
Not good enough, light enough, fluffy enough
to rise to the top.

It is a degenerative disease
but not lethal,
causing many people to become
bed-ridden whereby,
nobody can see it happening,
the Big C
inevitably crippling
and eliminating any breath
of fresh air.

There was no
Placebo
that would prove
originality was a sin,
or provide support
for the proper functioning
of such complex systems
commonly called
Culture.

That is not the source of the plague.
But living in such close proximities
there is no immunity
from the compulsion to Compare
every person, place or thing
as if we could be grammatically correct
when spelled out,
none knew how to read the
finest print.

It will cost you.

Hey,
You over there,
is the grass greener?
Take a picture, send it to me,
no filter, really?
I guess everyone else is better
off
than We.





Artist Rupert Bunny, c. 1915 in Public Domain.

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].