DUST DEVILS©
STATE OF THE UNION
a dried banana slice
has erased the pain of subjugation
perhaps the mower needs an oil change
the reality is
I enjoy working
writing
zazen
and doing music
what many search for
I can't say I have found
just sitting
working
playing
it seems to me that this
is a worthy goal for any civilization
the day is arduous
life replaces itself
moment by moment
civilizations built this way
are being replenished
from within
ANCESTORS
when no earthquakes happen
the seismograph trembles like a palsied finger
scratching a history of low level noise
energy concentrates in words
shading into baffles, eves and roof lines
down long horizons
almost the dust of days
and quiet memories that might be uncovered
in wordless ways
LOST AND FOUND
when words found electronic communication
barriers were transcended
ah, “now peace will come”
wartime telegraph operators
went numb
if the medium is not the message
who controls it?
who enrolls armies?
and why should anyone obey?
guns are not liver transplants
who says banks can own your money?
who enforces this?
why?
is your home a castle?
how about a low income project?
or what if money evaporates?
lots of people who were nice
have been demoted
is urban planning the answer
to dreams of infinite growth?
be fruitful
and justify the Ponzi scheme?
urban life
peace on earth
civilization
justification for entrenched elites?
SING, SING, SINGULARITY
shards and shingles of the day
a fine blue mist
tree tops fading
echoes of a typewriter caught on an eight track tape
the world is a particle accelerator
hampered by the running of the bulls
smashing stuff is the way to truth?
Higgs boson in a fun house mirror
I scratch my foot
it yells: get off my back!
I answer as reasonably as possible:
a football team?
gladiators on a field of ice?
bent backs and coolie hats tend a field of rice
where ox carts ride thimbles on a washboard
let's dance!
it beats smashing a foot ball
and such ghost map bits
uploaded almost for free on the World Wide Waterfront
in migration to everywhere at once
nothing like it
but now my toes itch
migration is insufferable
since the weather in my brain makes habitation there
untenable
how wonderful
the world beyond the web
PURR TIME
perhaps nothing can be said
of a bucket lowered down a well
coming back up empty with laughter
the potted rose with twitter bits in flitters
says it best
Tabitha perks her ears
something out there
it does not speak
who goes there?
perhaps a bucket in dripping moss
her ears after rain
perhaps a splash of memory
rippling through eternities
warp speed puzzles in wavy grass
so she gets to sit on the clip board
bite this pen
make communications with other humans difficult
well, there is so much to purr about
so she gets the last purr
