The man solemnly swore/But his hand was not on the Bible/And by a grade-schooler’s standard/That means it didn’t count.
It does count, though/As a piece of the puzzle/Of this enigma of a criminal/Who loopholes his way through the rules.
“Hey, I WARNED you I was a snake,” he may say after the War.
And the Laugh Emoji will be his sword and shield.
there is the moon/above a gauzy cloud/and if it had a saturn’s ring/in its current crescent state/it would look like a bow and arrow/poised to fire at the sun horizon sun
there are muons too/in subatomic abundance/but if you want to see them/you will need a cloud chamber/and even then what you will see/are its characteristic tracks
the moon up above/the muons all around
one cloud gauzing/one revealing
that’s life
now, gullible and lullable are twins./but sanctioned hanky-panctity is not./the horizon infinity run alas is a race nobody wins/and a moment may be finite as a dot.
when we are fools in lust and greed and wanting/and get our hopes up faster than a flare./some hopes shatter, some dissolve, some are killed and then start haunting/some will drive us to the outskirts of despair.
strong acid has no appetite/but eats voraciously/and black holes eat surrounding light/and time eats you and me.
when dining in a restaurant/let’s bless the beasts that feed us/and be polite and nonchalant/and tip the folks who need us.
we fill our baskets to make feast/in province state and county/and North and south and west and east/provide us with our bounty.
the bottom-feeders play the part/without which toppers languish/let’s tend our filth and show some heart/by quelling sea life anguish.
dig in with gusto yet when done/reserve, recycle, be/as life-supporting as the Sun/and live r e s p o n s i b l y.
The Asymmetrical Heart
We have romanticized the heart/Reduced it to a simple shape/Made myth of its emotive core/Denied our kinship with the ape
Its septa, chambers, valves and pipes/Tell of a greater life-romance/Of oxygen exchange, the more/Essential to Survival’s dance
In comes corpuscular starvation/Sent to the lungs; enriched; engorged; To function make and flush restore/And thus is our Existence forged
The Heart at heart is like a bellows/A squeezebox never on the shelf/So have respect, ye Ladies, Fellows:/It yields not love but Life Itself.
mix up the letters of JOE BIDEN
and you get I NEED JOB.
mix up PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP
and there’s a DESPOT in there/and a PIED STRUMPET/and a RESIDENT DOTARD
and a lot of other fun insulting anagrams
for the man who likes to say things/to get elected/and then unsay them/because he only said them to get elected.
you can also be sure/that the CANDOR or a venerated news ANCHOR will evoke his RANCOR AND/OR Wrath.
long ago a military man said these exact words: “We had to destroy the village in order to save it.”
Somewhere in at least two places evil men are acting as if
they have to destroy this country
in order to destroy it.
rise and shine kid morning’s here/coffee up with cream and splenda/grub up dress up disappear/meet that improvised agenda
break at seven lunch is noonish/crunch those numbers write that plan/show up for the meeting loonish/out by seven if you can
home at last kiss wife pet doggie/flop exhausted watch the game/weather forecast comes up soggy/every day more of the same
the murky focus is for the squeamish
who might squeam
if they saw how like crawling centipedes
these new stitches slash scars appear
.
this makes six surgical scars and a patch of road rash
two on my forehead three on right hand/wrist and one on my left knee
and the road rash on my left forearm
.
hey wait i forgot my appendix scar
that makes lucky seven
.
we are all scarred
and not all scars heal well
and some not at all
but we are here
and here there are avenues of comfort
.
the hockey player gordie howe had dozens of scars
they were an occupational hazard
and badges of honor
.
the road rash has been healing gradually over the last seventeen years
it has gone in relative size and shape from australia to japan
.
so i hope to get the scar to hawaii by my hundredth birthday
.
and my centipedes will have joined my lifeline and loveline seamlessly
when i shake my Maker’s nonhand
bugmuscle propels the skittering critter/tripodally some times, in flight others. a horse’s gallop is inelegant/in comparison; the coordination of six legs/whilst maintaining balance and speed/keeps the flexor muscles of three femurs contracting/and the other three relaxed/at any given moment. a scientist named Hill/developed a model that niftily tells us what is going on/with all muscle, exoskeletally encapsulated/or not. it makes for good, substantive reading, but/i left it unfinished, being unready/with my bunch of mammal muscle/to be over the Hill/just yet.
bugs cannot smile. rejoice, for we can and do!
noeyes
“…as you stare into the vacuum/of his eyes…” Bob Dylan, “Like a Rolling Stone”
he is noeyed/nevertheless he is eyeing us all
judging
looking out at you and seeing foibles
waiting for another slip
and that is why he is there on my home screen
amongst stuff i often use
i made him to watch me/keep me mindful/let me know twin abysses abide/and every moment counts
i stare him down to prepare for a challenge
he wants to intimidate but hey
i can see right through him/so can you
One with Clay, Image and Text 