Brawn, Brains, and Beauty

The meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything
used to be like oil and its inky reserve
Dug for with laser focus
to box up in barrels for portable digestion
The great resevoirs of Earth Power
vacuumed, cracked, and sacked
for motivational speeches
by chemical robots preaching freedom.
In their growling voices they dictate our options
putting prices on our freedom
putting a price on their company
In any case as worlds are changed
for the worse from exhalation of C02
each time they start growling down byways
in every boring place and remembered days.
The chemical motornation produces climate change.

And new meaning rises like clockwork
upon silicon robots that direct all singing
and play and pretty much everything
replacing most all chemical machines
as engines of silicon drink electrons
putting too a price on their company
as our freedom in honest mistakes shrinks
where suddenly for the sake of COOrdination
how and what we're supposed to do
is dictated by unfeeling timing
of silicon clocks COOrdinating
and we no longer get to choose
Wherein, If choice is freedom,
then COOrdination is a form of slavery
as surely as bonds of routine and obligation
dictate that we have fewer and fewer choices.

We ourselves are a machine
more wonderous, mystical, and living
than anything hereto possible
producing CO2 AND COOrdination
within and outside our bodies
to escape the deep freeze
of poverty, crime, and ignorance
in self-important lives
and hypocritical lies.
Me, you, and everyone
deserves independence from these
to shine like a star-child.

When Worlds Turn

I look and see no one's looking
beyond the sea held within their wallet
As water rains from skies
Welcome to society!
Here's your checkbook, buy some smiles.
And the worm crawling in folded bills slowly eats his way out
from billfold into folded heart.
I caught him nibbling at my soul so I torched the little liar.
And all illusion fell to ashes leaving me drowning in an ocean
and weak to swim to shore where now I reside to live in captivity
by the local tribe of indiginents whom seem slightly more anarchistic
for having been burned by light once upon a time.
I spend my day slaving to explain I don't speak their language
I spend my day slaving to make the sun rise and the moon to set.
But still my fears that time is yet unraveling from fires started yesteryear
is consuming the rest of the world as I sit here gathering moss
and growing hoary with frost having been put here by the Gods.
If I were to Die, the words would be unwritten
and yet if I am to live, they aren't to be spoken.
And I could not even if prompted, by some will
that constantly fights progress towards that end.
This my life, is my punishment for remembering
the slavery from which I freed many
from the pit of darkness.
But, that too, is to be forgotten I guess
as freedom is just a memory as I live dislocated
on an island
that speaks strangely
familiar.

Open Letter to President Obama

Imagine a world so networked with silicon clocks and electronics

that a single man could coordinate a galactic government.

If we played nice with a benevolent dictator.

And if one man could do that,

as networked devices run banks and business plans

silicon coordination would shrink the effective need

for family size, and every other freedom

But also smaller and smaller groups throw

bigger and bigger wrenches

in well planned functioning

nonetheless somewhat blind

(as this is life)

creating perpetual states

of emergency

Already on news

were bombarded by grim hues

of planes crashing

and tracers in Iraq

Scuds in Afghanistan

or any grim act

or grizzly murder

or wolf hunt

And that's not even politics

merely coordinatation effects.

For man is a coordinated person

with brain and hand and eye

keeping track of time

Ah! like Silicon!

So combustion of silicon engines

are actually polluting with coordination

the very thing driving the machine

till global freedom starts shrinking

from atmospheres of stress

Global warming all over again

but not from extraction of fossil fuel

but from compaction of silicon tools.

Already Boston got locked down

Airlines are Airinoid

Gitmo another sign of the starry heavens

That freedoms are shrinking in Yuletide

and spring tides and neat lives

and every other kind of time

kept track by element 28, nowadays, sigh.

42 freedoms 28 lives

3 cats and two eyes

spy another catastrophic timeline

lagging behind the winning car

in this game of life.

28

The meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything
used to be like oil and its inky reserve
something slaved over to see light of day
something that could be cracked and seperated
for plastic, or fuel, or medicine for ones gettabout
filling empty tanks for renewed vigor
and lubricating easier days ahead.
but it's not like oil. Not anymore
The meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything
is like Solar, dude, Where promethean fire is limitless
and in hanging ten, only grows more power from preponderance.
something thats wasted now when stored too long;
meant to be used in convention and connection
for participation in economies.
Where a new day reverses climate change
by partners in the same knowledge surviving progress'
terminating robots and human follies
that march on in war against time.
Direction Zero bids me home
to avert catastrophe.
Welcome to the good news.
there's new meaning in Life, the Universe, and Everything!

Poem posted to Craigslist- Feb 1st, 2013

In Life as in all things
nothing,
gives rise to everything
Space cradles Earth
Earth cradles you
And within the humblest corner inside
resides your greatest strength
expecting nothing, saying nothing
Like a solid green prow
waving above emerald seas of trees

Go West and see
A gigantic land awaits beyond
setting sun and autobahn
waves of quantum and mores of possibility
Go West
where space awaits for rivers run of people
in country-sides green and gold
eager for exploring sights.

My eye, spies another time
where lives- simple,
were rights like 10 amendments
which scintillate as fire in hearts.
Still, yet, learning to be free.
You, me, our feet-
which follow suns retreat, Go West
to where rest awaits for Sun's embrace
and learn- Nature's secret,
that time has geography.

It's Been a Long Time

My wanderlust
mimics occupation.
Seemingly a dream
of new days coming.
For my soul's body
makes apparent
some of Life is genetic
in my understanding.

mimicking occupation
are children
learning by observing
practicing by play
until big enough for pay

Seemingly a dream
life is a beach
I crawled up on
from catastrophe at sea
onto isolated island
with mostly beasts
for company
with nothing to mimick
in occupation
except animals I perceive.

New days come,
in agony I weep
from silent peace,
gray days and black nights
haunted by figments
of light and shadow
playing across imaginations
as I listen
from the room with a view
to wide seas breaking
upon my shore
and rain pelting my roof
in my narrow harbor

My soul's body
is defective
but its all I got
and so I clothe it
in privacy to protect
and jealously guard chapt skin
This I must make last
for a lifetime
like the quart jars
swaddled in macrame
I refill each rain.

Apparently,
I could leave
anytime I want
but lacking RFID chip
under palm skin
grocery doors won't open,
tills won't ring.
Some people with ocular bionics
can't even see me
I have most of what I need, here
except people
And anyway,
I can't run away
from myself in any case
except by mini-vacation.
Me, always seems to catch up
whether or not I look back.
And the beer isn't completely shit

Some of Life is genetic
imparted by eons of evolution
of Man struggling with Nature
but also against Markets and Industry
as paths we trod determine survival
of both path and camper
whether or not destination
is truthful and beautiful
for our health, wealth,
ingenuity, and acceptance

Understanding this,
I sit alone
in comfort of radio
watching time lap
upon shores of wooded forest
from inside insulated box
with company of chickadee
and it's occasional calling fee-bee
as winter latches lickety-split
onto shackles of my cigarette.

It's been a long time since shipwreck,
and having learned to observe
I crawl up
on gray days and black nights
that last lifetimes, it seems,
broken only by mini-vacation
as a path I trod for survival
in shores of wooded forest.

In Language of Souls

A Lark harkens to the laughter inside
the thoughts and emotions leading to which instead.
We work and fork reality led, to peddle faster
down rolling hills laughing-


at least alive

and that laughter sharing our souls embrace
alights like starlings on branches space
There is no thing, no boson of fun
but the laughter and companionship
rolls round our head, in effusive
collaborative creation fashioned
a language of souls like trees talking to dead
a synergy, a chemistry, a synthesis of energy
in networks of language, Like English! we live

so starlings perch

though I should predicate
that navel gazing can take all day
just as one can poke fence posts in rows
for birds to arrange notes and chime tides of light
calling hours solemn or sparkled
A lark or a starling childs of morn

and poets pontificate


As ordained ministers of truth and beauty
in the houses of lords
like said masters of hawthorne
License granted by proof of effort
we marry truth and beauty
and divorce hate and war
Wishing Merry or Forlorn
to share a piece of themselves
Like said Starling in the language of souls
simply communing, simply us.