Ant-Bird

Number, where been, ask her.
His what. There any all?
Three, and give not an out.
How tell food for two when want?

Have follow us know:
make like in you.
Do show it, woman,
and who work before read?

Get day, great people!

Me, my, with water too
but went large and it way will.
To am, the of of this,
this or think him put of mother.
Father, friend up could are.
Come on, Ant Bird.
Yes, by they about a big? He.
And it way will city went as mother.
Their learn of uncle story were this:
are One, every she.

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Ether and Ore

Dedicated to my grandmother, Tilly Mendez, who instilled in me a love of science fiction.

In “The Last Jedi” she did see
herself stretched to infinity
and turning, seeking answers, found,
in her dismay she was to drown.
Disappointment turned into fright.
Her parents were nowhere in sight.
On herself only must depend
through space and time without an end.

She wanted him. He wanted her
to colonize into his dream.
She wanted him to come away
from the darknesses’ demonings.

Admiral Holdo does divide
the darkness from the winning side
and drives with light to wedge between
defending her rebellious Queen.

Just then the sabor split in half.
Balance resumed to blow the mast.
Our heroine did exit quick.
On her his dreams he failed to stick.
For she does know the hidden gem
found inside her heart’s diadem:
To her own self she must be true
or suffer the rebuke of two.

Luke Skywalker bestows his gift
then disappears into the mist
to Yoda and all masters past.
He sits among the Saints at last.


Selfies Stick

The iCloud is not white and pure.
A monster to the Earth it be.
The memories it keeps in store
consume resources greedily.

Individual mentality
justifies the killing spree.
Every man for himself does leave
the ancestors behind to grieve.

That is our country ’tis of thee;
upon a blood foundation rests.
Spralling manifest destiny
corrupts the feeling intellect.

The mind in service to the heart,
compassion will salvation bring.
That kinder freedom from the start
frees us from un-necessating.

Our money states: In God We Trust
blinded to what’s in front of us.
Moral expense to become wealthy.
Killing the Earth to save our selfies.


The Museum

Dedicated to all the artists

I wandered tombs of tomes from whence
hidden beneath the sacred site
did unsolved riddles’ sweet pretense
encase the mighty dynamite.

Escher could draw the puzzling
of steps and fish and belvedere
without the greasy sentiment
of painters with an obvious flare.
(He saw deeply inside the square
and took you there,
then took you THERE).

Schiele’s heart doth the darkness seek
for paradigms inside the face
mysterious and murkily
the beauty of the future’s taste.
His is the grace of master’s hand
delights in pigments of the blood.
He touched the wings of sacred sand
enfolded in the ancient shroud.


The Red Shoes

At tender age of twenty-four
I stood at the crossroads obscure.
The rightly path in front of me
lay thickets bare and thornily.
I could not muster courage strong
for that path so I chose the wrong.
I took the dead-end path instead
and danced and danced on feet that bled
until at last I came around.
Inside myself a new path found.
Through letting go in present tense
uncoded psychic dissonance.
This time I heeded inner call
walking without a fear to fall.
Darkness no longer terrifies
when clarity and truth belies.


The Wizard of Wonderland

Alice and Dorothy
go on a journey
where nothing is good
though that it should.

One emerald,
one red,
they fall out of bed.

They want to go home.
They want to wake up.
They drink from the cup
that fucks they shit up.

They deal with dimensions
of shape and of size
not too easily defied.

Stumbling,
confused with desperation,
what they need is meditation.

At last they say
to those who hear:
surrender all to your home inside
that palace of wondrous fanta-sci-fy.

There is nothing else.
No here nor there
that once imagined
disappears.


All due praise
to the Geese of Fenway
whose beauty
reminds me to be human
even as I sidestep the shit
and whose power
can bring traffic to a halt on Boylston
in the early afternoon light
of opening day.

Nowadays, no one stops to hear a bird sing.
Instead, we google it and think we know.
These shortened attention spans are trying to
(pause, pause, pause, pause, pause)
drive me crazy.

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