OROBORUS©

WHAT THE MARKET BEARS

sun dried prunes are quite enough

to fill an abandoned shopping cart

they might have been productive

if not abused as blossoms

but then the tractors came

black diesel fumes

belching abandoned trees

IN A 

CEDAR BOX

DOWN IN THE BASEMENT

a sheet of paper

was discovered and opened

it had this:

we are all the center

in fact everything is the center of everything

being-time is forty elbows

and seasons are sequences

knowledge predicts disease

provides treatments

yet allows pride to multiply uncontrollably

affects the uses of technology

and willful ignorance of

the reach of mind

beyond slavery and tethers

and on the other side:

far beyond the sequences of time

in sealed compartments

past, present, future

thoughts tether persons

knowledge is useful

but limited to particular things

which come and go

and what has it to do with casino wins

prizes in your cereal box?

which are more than coincidence

are they not?

after all

you place your bet, open the box at a certain place in time

and events are knowable

simply their sequence is the question

or is it?

OR NOT TO BE

somewhere in the background

maybe buried deep

is a need

shy perhaps

that bides its time

to nudge or shove

as the case may be

towards the unbelievable

a something without form that nonetheless

forms everything

it must be more real than reality

it's not an it

that much is clear

grasping won't work

birds fly

bugs hop

seems like everything is

it

TRIBUTE

AT THE END OF THE DAY

is the next moment

there is no final result

dried raisins are food

trees grow branches which grow leaves

that fall, decompose, become more trees

everywhere contributes to everything that ever

was, is, or will be

so there you go, Hamlet

whose outrage?

little known nor long remembered

numbered or not

passing before they're caught

our days are endless

THE GIST

RUINS OF LOST CIVILIZATIONS

the pyramids

the Mystery Spot in Scotts Valley

Faraday's discoveries

an MRI scan

language itself, struggling upstream, spawning

all drained of magic, all dreams

a calm sea devoid of ripples

the mirror lies

showing only a reflection

my dentist, Doctor Salem

says I'm in the 1% of people who

at my age

still have their own teeth

am I flabbergasted?

do I search for the light at the end of the wharf?

as though it ever mattered

it's all laughable

each moment is unique

not the usual, usual

and no big deal, though in a pinch I'd have to admit

it's also everything

those who built pyramids

or made plans for a new bay bridge

who sweep streets and arrest people for speeding

are just mowing lawns in a different key

I suppose music should have been listed when beginning this

I could rewrite it

maybe that would satisfy classicists

but I like the way it ends

PSALM

only silence is worth talking about

such a contradiction

everything contains its opposite

who is responsible for this?

each person a microcosm

the whole in every part

searches for itself

and how?

in silence