Thursday, March 26, 2015

Cash Out

It's about you.
On me.
It's about all the jasmine things we could do.
Or think.

It's about you
It's about me
And inside my head
The world views three
They're stealing all my golden ideas
And re-pross--ing

It's about you
It's about me.
And wondering when you'll finish looking
And get with me.

It's about you.
It's A-BOUT me.
The movie they're making
Makes us- two, Three!

It's been about you.
It's on me.

Monday, March 23, 2015

Waiting for my Coffee at Five in the Morning

A box within a box like Russian dolls
Human shaped and each painted I drive up road
Park at the square plot and arrive at my box
I go in might park my jacket, take off shoes
And feed the fish in their square box if it's early

Otherwise I might watch the rain
And listen to it strike the box, eternally
Dripping from round world and sky and collected
Will fill any box easily and for the money.

I don't see them, the square walls or rectangular furniture
It's like a white page behind the text sitting still and quiet
Ready to rip apart when the first bomb drops
Ready to become empty when your heart rips apart

Maybe that's what happened for life is hard sometimes
Someone grieving destroyed all the round houses
Someone pained burned the last round car
Someone poor begged to death

Probably fearing, someone took rosey valentine and ripped it all up
For it was the only black text written on an indifferent page
And they needed everything to be all right, that is they wanted nothing else
But to just turn back time.

Makes you wonder about left-handed people.
Like as in, where'd they all go?
They got blamed for no reason at all.
And that was like half the population!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

If I Were to Publish

Books democratized, volume of line under line
In Imaginary time in dialogue with an author
Uploaded and printed, spit out and excited

I didn't get it on the World Book list
Or did I?  This book is online for every retail shop
For a price discounted a lot
From years I put into making and explaining
What exactly goes on in my head.

Explained and realized recursively 'till all the recursions
And I, looked at each other and remarked, "that's fine",
Leaving me standing with my thoughts in typefont.
Leaving me peacefully quieter and excited and no longer vying
For my imaginary mind.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Upon encountering S. James Gate

Symmetrical string theory is Time with a capital T
It is the non-material science The programming of existence
That corrects the codes of probability and encodes reality
In material worlds of mostly space
And string theory indeed exists, at least within speculation of imaginary time.
That in-of-it self only leaves Time itself left to represent
Because science has proven matter mostly emptiness.

And it does exist, for math is real
Einstein saw the atom through equations
Feynman changed worlds in simple construct
And Reloaded math for practice and practical apps
For changed worlds and through changing whirls
Of Atoms spinning and action winning
The probability that the world exists is probably True.
And with that be true to you.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

What is your most important dream

My most important dream is an idea
You know... that idea.
The one I revisit throughout the day
The one I write about at night
It is my dream, and sometimes,
I lend it to dank world muddled with water
And sometimes I place it in the dry sun on some summer heat wave
The earth baking with a dust that settles on drying lip

It is one filled with hope
But I dream mostly of safety, anymore.
Quiet conversation in privacy of curious peers
Sitting usually, and so I dream while awake
Of Galactic Stars throwing off lifestuffed dust
That I eat in cooked red-meat from country farm

And I dream of the worlds of the highways
What it means to zip up the pockets so one can fly
But my hands and my mouth are in there
My feet
And I greet few, similarly zippered in trip passing farther

But my favorite dream isn't cinnamon horses or apple orchards
But strength to survive this hard life, long enough!
Of all things, huh?  I want to live...
So that I might dream something wise, one day,
And then the next, and the next, and the next after that
Rather than peddling and watching worlds turn Impersonal and Quick
But blooded and heartfelt just like those cinnamon horses
Just like those apple orchards of amber roses and flowers of deep time.

Monday, March 2, 2015

If a Fish Were True

A man and his tool is a new evolution
Planned and planed worlds are functional expression
To wit the fish with fins and lateral meridian
Swim the topography of water in ease, perfectly
Balanced between genetics and environment till disease or famine
Or predation test and stress and/or end being.

It's body is an ecology of flora and fauna
His cells growing on him as much as is him
Forming organs that coordinate
Systems that concatenate
Habits that facilitate
And brains that think and feel what it is to be fish.

Its body is an ecology, Much as your house
And city sprawling around and surrounding
Or forest or prairie or desert oasis
Or planet or solar system or cluster or galaxy
Each with their unique paths in life.

Ecology with such definition, could mean environment of life
Which more often than not depends on other living beings
And tools and tools and tools and tools
Like fish and their fins and guts with bacteria
Themselves, too, are an ecology
Wherein life begins with little cognizance
And whole programming from nucleic acids.
For our environment is/of life, that is the world we swim
That is the world that visits me when I visit the grocery store.

Tools of enjoyment and escape
Tools of work and construction
Tools of protection and destruction
Tools of health and wealth and production
It is all the same, these are the wings we fly with,
As fish swims with fin and eye spying a playful gain.

And the planned and planed world?
You wouldn't like it.  It wouldn't fit in a box.
And if you somehow managed to box it up and put a label on it?
Most everyone would say, 'I knew it,' then ignore it
For food, and get to working and loving their world.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


We win
But we only really win with each other
All who survive get the prize
For this isn't a game that's sharply defined
This is the World, this is us, this Life
and no man/woman is an island

This is counter-intuitive, but real as real gets
We only win with and through each other
For we aren't playing to survive
We are fighting to survive and for others, too
People like us, people like you and me, to survive and thrive
So don't give in to the voices
It may be they're spirits and/or avatars of the Gods, even
Or the voices of friends or family or people we've shared with.
Our place is to Live, Laugh, Learn, and Love
I think voices are but intuition, depending...

Depending on our imagination to be real...
Which is our greatest strength as well
                                 as weakness
So don't give up fighting alongside,
All who survive get the prize, All who survive Win
And all who win thrive
                      My advice, don't starve.

 You are a winner in your own way,
 This world is your world you were born into.
 There's place for you, too
 There's place for me as well
 And if we Will Learn Resiliency?
 Then they will GIVE US success!