Friday, January 13, 2017

Satellite

Pair, not pare, as if we needed two
to know communication is necessary
to Foxtrot or Tango binary is Zebra.
We ask only to mishear the confusing
theories or holes in our black clad alibis
for why we were here, inevitable and
loving no matter what sound it makes,
it needs a forest to muffle and cover us
under the pitch-not Vanta Black-not-yet-we shall see
and still sense something deeper is out there...
            Let me ask. No.
            Since you seem knowledgeable-
            Do you think we look cool, all lit up or have we
            lost track
            of trends? Colors can be tricky.
            It could be a culture thing, a sign of life, in slushy seas
            that contain multitudes of whale hymns and plankton
            choruses from eons ago, it goes, it goes,
            (never mind, I don't know the words)
We have a half a million tiny satellites hovering around us,
moons, rocks, bacterium, the hum-dingers
tinier than ten cent meters, that do five hundred dollar dashes---
in a rocket sneeze planned projectory that resembles
the ideal arc to release a stream of (consciousness) these; could be
Defined as:
1. ) a natural body
2.) a device
3.) a branch office or alternate location
4.) a subservient follower of another (led/lead)
5.) a country under domain
Of Another Aliens or

404, Page not Found.

Artwork by Henri Théophile Hildibrand in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, 'Around the Moon' (1872).

Putting it to Get it Together


This world 
was all pretty patterns and preparation.
We made
sense with these,
common and collective.

Why we cache and stash
something for our selves-
this is a game-keep away-such as
saving some sunny day money
you hope to forget about-but 
keep counting it in
the back-end.

Why we puzzle and play,
riddling and competing for solutions
and winners
between you and I-Or-
there are losers. Must be
unable to connect the dots,
incapable of collecting thoughts-

holy buckets, walking in labyrinths
following threads of logic
tangled up in theoretically.

It is the mystery that moves us,
to interpretation
without reason. Carry on. 

"And I wanted to examine that horoscope once more and to see its pattern, no matter how fantastic or catastrophic the prediction."

-Walter Mehring (from 'The Lost Library')



Featured artwork By Staecker (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Convice-a-versa


There was too much to say 
and no single string
to unwind the entanglement
they had become bound by.

There was no effort to try an utterance,
no thoughtless pennies lying around;
that whet glimmer gone out-thirst quenched
that kindled glow to dull grit, brackish.

Nowadays, 
they say so little about much to Be
done differently, they insist
resistance is futile, 
the pinned up smile, better
(n)ever?

And so, the silence stood for resilience,
for this speechless return, old friends 
in darkness, happenstance
this ends loneliness for this time.

Gentler thoughts could do-(no)
Better. 


Painting by By Felix Nussbaum, 1943 (https://www.tumblr.com/search/Felix+Nussbaum) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Body in motion


My heart does one hundred meter dashes,
jumping at the reloaded gun.
The infantile hairs on my skin are erect,
as though blowing at high speeds.
                 --cannot catch up to my breath.

Sporadically,
at the apex of my rib cage something feels
trapped or collapsing in origami swans,
somersaults and am sitting still

listening to the bamboo wind chimes,
low & lightly in the late-after noon shade...

There is no further of going nor
West I can go,
and a sense I cannot share this feeling
-end of the road
with anyone.

Anxious, I guess.
And I don't ask,
because I am alone.

Is it uneasiness,
I never wondered
too hard
I'm afraid.



Painting By Arkhip Kuindzhi (1842-1910), Sunlight in Park (1908) and (http://kuinje.ru/) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

tiny affirmations


Yes
I said, opening the door.
In he came with a crooked smile
his eyes down cast-
my feet-
bare
and stood
there-
I facing him.

with first blinks and a rub of my eyes-
Don't-said he-quickly-his hand
fingering the silky nude rose
pink petals, curled tips and
composed in the tiny crystal vase.

Get up-See-'Tis better to Dream-Always.
Says he, with a warm flannel smile
(around me).

Yes,
I slept a while-
yes, it felt so good.
I don't know if I dreamt
or what it meant that my
pillow smelt so sweet and pink
like tiny crystals, maybe leaves...

Yes,
was the first word
awake.
And It was good.




Image of painting by Frederic Leighton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Flaming June (1895).

Outside cages


Why pink flamingos
and aged Scotch, all neat,
let me tell you.
So
-not listening to your Top 40,
tacky Top 10's of no clicking ends,
to slim-fit into one size
single best remedy for ADHD-Spanx-
lacy Ritalin and sucking it in and up.
Apps and crap.
No thanks to letters and breath,
there is never enough for famishing...

Though the wind chimes were hung inside
happy is not home.
Respiration. Sleep-a mystery. Love-
a labyrinth. Ex-hale kings and queens.

Keeping company in cupboards
and memories in the pantry
is conservation.
Cold storage for
Natural Disasters unanticipated calamities
to be consumed
best by poetry stocked up.

Wallpaper was a little library,
well, the glue was all edible
they became consumed this way.

And I, the bye
as a terrible host,
there are no chairs here to offer you,
shall I cut you some rug?

Sit. Stay. Spin.

It is breezy, yes.
The window is stuck wide open
so the birds can watch me
fly.



Painting By Daderot (Own work) [Public domain or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Elementary Watsons


Is it possible to have a predisposition to being irritated easily, is a short fuse hereditary, like being hairy? More probably-
it is a terminal condition of impatience with symptomatic rashiness,
hence the genetic reference.

It makes sense to source all flaws, same as weeds,
at the root. And again, this is more akin to original sin than I have ever been.

Ring around the Rosey, duck, duck goose, and the movements in musical chairs, the play of blame games...

We offer colorful complaints, abstain refrain and cherish precious twirled excuses,
tangled nooses for those ties that bind us back to our Pollyana
new Cleo tides. Skipping generations like stones on shallow surfaces,
convenience has been woven in.
In stitches of fabric-ated fusion by base pairs.



FOTO:FORTEPAN / Gál László [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

(Bone pile)

My lips are sealed with  The caulk of deaf ears. Born for this. Lessons to be learned as chapters Turned  Over, like how to read our bodies ...