Dandy Lions

A piece of a wish floated into my vision

settling down like my cat in my lap

spinning first before committing

I looked carefully

from all sides of the wish

careful not to crush its prospect

but failed to find any form

of return address.

Since the sender should know

its want was taken by a whim

and carried off course-

of course I could keep it

since it already hangs nicely

balanced by just this part

that says Over You.

Image by Laurits Andersen Ring c. 1899[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Humming hermit in harmonic oscillation

There is no inside or confine
in four stretching dimensions
By how much or for how far
is estimated by supply and
determined by demand
only to be capped with the overriding
maxim, less is more.

Those corkscrew tails
of other times
recycling stories
into bodies we know.

Ass-erting eminent domain
of some higher realm of Real
Property and fixtures ensured room
by erosion and a notion
that all Babble
is shallow and far too narrow
to fit in the grid
of harmonic oscillation.

Universal truths, TOE's, circular assertions
crystal geocentric ramifications like Pi
Facets of and ice, perma frost
that keep us projecting inward
sucking back out from our carbon
vacuous space
a breath of fresh air
when you start to stop
cowering
Die
oxide.
Open up wide,

there is every reason to hide (inside).





Image in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Lady Lion tamer, c. 1897. 

Hunger in the sculpture garden

Tempting as it sounds
to taste literature with my tongue
there is a limit to what we can know
about authors intentions
the recipe is always
made to personal taste.
And once again I was lured to lick-
almost taunted
to be truthful-
with its smooth lines
melting in the sun
to tactfully taste the Rodin.
My palm salivating
I took a tiny sip
with just my salted fingertip
and noted the same
famished touch as Auguste,
kneaded under me. So I proceeded
to touch each one,
with my limb and flesh, swallowing the
sculptures and devouring their
stoic expressions.
A feast for the eyes,
an appetizer of art, bodies of work
for my insatiable appetite craving more

elements in my metallic spit.


Photo credit: Me, myself and I, 2/11/16.

Audio astronomy

The signal came from the southern sky

traveling through pelagic open space,

in intergalactic waters,

way out in the extragalactic sea

where wails with corkscrew tails

sing like wet rings, bottle-tops

humming up a cacophony

politely one point three billion

miles away we heard-

a New drop in Newtons bucket

a ripple we just heard, a chirp,

a slurp of bodily attraction

placed in interactive

angular momentum

just one parsec apart

and the moan, a new word

pronounced audioastronomy

a visual dichotomy

once again,

we were not using our sense(s).

Let's pretend we're dumb

and listen to what space may say

about a billion yesterdays

inaudible ways.

Image By X-ray: NASA/CXC/Curtin University/R. Soria et al., Optical: NASA/STScI/ Middlebury College/F. Winkler et al. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Description in English: An extraordinary outburst produced by a black hole in a nearby galaxy has provided direct evidence for a population of old, volatile stellar black holes. The discovery, made by astronomers using data from NASA's Chandra X-ray Observatory, provides new insight into the nature of a mysterious class of black holes that can produce as much energy in X-rays as a million suns radiate at all wavelengths.

Researchers used Chandra to discover a new ultraluminous X-ray source, or ULX. These objects give off more X-rays than most binary systems, in which a companion star orbits the remains of a collapsed star. These collapsed stars form either a dense core called a neutron star or a black hole. The extra X-ray emission suggests ULXs contain black holes that might be much more massive than the ones found elsewhere in our galaxy.

A paper describing these results will appear in the May 10, 2012, issue of The Astrophysical Journal.

Free the Art (#FreetheArt)

Snowing pear blossoms
in February
Spring sprang early upon the Prado
The statues cowered in the corners
at first
watching the Watchers
take each one in
and walking in concentric circles
an Odessy of light and aluminum
circles that cast infinite full shadow
circles, and so on,
And then on
this eighty-degree day
the air bright boy blue
the art was delivered into the light
of day, pardoned finally.

The Mother and Daughter
thought
long and bronzed
about the Prodigal Son
that stole the show
from morning to noon
and under the slivered moon
they sit silently
listening
to what people say during the day.

Exposed and erected
projecting question marks
directly in the path
where commas once hung down,
inviting introspect to take a seat
and listen to the reflection
of blooming pear snow
finally outside
the museum window.



Photo credit: Me, myself and I. Taken 2/11/16, Mother and Daughter sculpture is by Francisco Zuniga (1912-1998) and is currently on display in San Diego, Balboa Park, San Diego Museum of Art, Art of the Open Air. 

Trending on Depending

The newest Nows were kept near

the generic Common Sense

but considering the recent calamities

every convenience store

is out

of stock on bare necessities,

like toiletries and these two

hot commodities that fly off shelves

frenzied with a surplus

supply, merchant diced in excess

on a roll,

around and around

with leftover Nevers

and riddled with Logos.

Image By Walker Evans, for the Farm Security Administration, taken in Alabama USA July 1936[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Art of Archery

The goal is the pursuit

The aim is pointed at the → means

As an arrow whose tip says-go forward →

>>>My tail feathers drag you down<<<

                                         If freedom was voice

                                             let it fly with motive,

                                                   words from the quiver,

                                        speech is aimed at your heart

                               shot from the bow of pliable opinion

                                             and if the goal were freedom

                                  there can be no aim, a shot in the dark

                      seeking a warm body, swimming through cold air

               hangs on your breath, steady, waiting for you to be ready

                               to let your grip go, open palms, holding hymns

                  held afloat by a lofty timeline,  gravity holds her weight

                                                                           in parabolic perpetuity

                                                                      ↔ arrows chasing despair ↔

                                                                        releasing boomerangs in air

                                                                                  aimed at freedom

                                                                         hunting down happiness,

                                                             caught by one’s own loud trap

                                                                        the pursuit perishes,

                                                                  passion plummets

                              blue dried blood on the tip

     of your sharp tongue.

Image of Archery competitor at the 1900 Olympic Games via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain.