dead end

Like Darwin's finches,
would we know why our beaks are shaped this way?

Poetry, like mathematical sentences,
cage the pigeon, momentarily truth can be contained
in theorem.

History was written to expel,
revise, adapt and to forget the way it happened
in order to make story from time with a line.

A plot never seems to develop
or hold
what was expected.

I do repeat myself,
I say things I often don't recognize
as mine, I smell fear in my atmosphere
and wish flight was my choice.


Artist Jacques Callot (1592-1635) 'Traveler' early 17th century, in Public Domain. 

De-hydration

There was I,
sitting atop the toilet seat after dark,
clutching the stemless wineglass with ice,
melting and prickling my fingertips with cold
beads expelled in an attempt at temperature
regulation.

My heart stomps and fills my ear
with an exasperated scream
about how hard it is to move
all this blood
to and from.

I do not drink wine,
my drink is called Karma,
its supposed to aid
digestion, I digress,
waiting in the mid-night
beads roll down my temple
and I shatter atop the frozen tiles

Waiting

as my Karma becomes diluted.


Painting by Sebastian Stoskopff [Public domain].

Weather (or not)

There are no problems, I have been told,
simply-events, an occurrence.

It is no coincidence, it suddenly occurred
to me, occur can be like low tide, recurring.

If there are no problems, are we living
in a comfort(able) zone, which becomes
uncomfortable,

like growing out of shoes,
or them growing apart
from you.

Returning our attention
to the steps we take, looking down,
we notice the children all looking up.

The sky is never the same.


Painting by Eugene de Blaas [Public domain].

The old flame

I have been sucking on rage
                    like a Jolly Rancher
                    all day-

They say
sucking calms coughing
                        fits, since we cannot do both
simultaneously.

The sun is blazing behind
                               the thunderheads
                               making the air tepid-

Did I mention the fire
                        coursing under the skin
                        causing the concrete to ripple
                         and fingers to spark?

Steam smolders in pillars from atop fences
as if the candles
were blown out.

Love and Hate, like thermodynamics,
                          compromises

I stand in between
with my lips stained red,
             a saccharin taste of cinnamon
that was once my favorite

reminds me
of our in-
consistencies.

Still,
I struggle to breathe.





Painting by Henry John Stock (1853-1930) in Public Domain.

To dwell

I hear the sirens and should be more
alarmed

they do not cease
and I meditate
or try to find the silence
in the thicket

of noise, nerves, signals,
cymbals
and flashing red lights.

Meanwhile,
the wind was howling outside
loose things slammed into each other
and the panes quivered
in their sills.

I thought of somewhere
life being whisked away
and let a fear
inside.

I stared at the door
but did not leave
knowing this
would be the death of me.


Painting by Paul Cornoyer, 'The lights in the window' c. 1910 in Public Domain. 

Out-sourcing AI

Of all the books
I have yet to read
There will never be one in the stack
About feelings.

I am a woman. I get these.

F equals M, where F are feelings
And M is motive, unless F equals female,
And M is male, then the former is
Greater than, by approximation.

Genius is not for men alone.

Of all the bizarre curiosities before us,
The greatest Being
Metaphor,
We still don’t know what it is for,
Why we stretch and try not to bounce
trying not to tear truth
from tendon.

It is our tendency to compare that
Distinguishes us, leaving insecurities
like these
all the more prone
To poetry.

The most challenging equations are simply
unsolvable
by a rational mind,
they are Resolved by process,
dissolved by filtration and expulsion,
whereby insight gains a greater perspective
than the outline,
unlike container.

Silence is simply choosing not to say.

That volume,
we hear,
is the best reference
to cite.

There was nothing more to see
that was considered
Tragedy,
so I read
Science or programming.



Photograph by Eli DeFaria elidefaria [CC0].

Homo-stasis

Let me be beautiful-
but not so much so that it makes me
ugly to others.

Let me know more
than everyone else,
but not so much
that I am to blame
(for everything).

Let me be plugged in
but not all the time,
because it weakens the
battery.

Let me love water
but not so much
I drown myself
for want of it.

Let me take in all
the air,
more than enough
to hold inside.

Let me read every word
that means something
to someone,
let me hear
all the wisdom
that may be
profound.

Let me love.
Let me live.
Let me love life
but not so much
I fear death
for the love of
wanting it.


Painting by Matthias Stom [CC0], 'Old Woman Praying' c. 1630's-40's in Public Domain.