GERRYMANDER©

AT DAWN

the ancestral legend is a study of aliens, freaks, criminals, fools

some possibly well meaning

a scattering of geniuses

a churning of topological islands in vast flows of lava

and a few farmers who have avoided blisters

palace intrigues and surviving art

my focus is nowhere, admitting everything

advice of the well meaning to focus elsewhere

tabled with the ancestors

even homely garden images

sheaved in words

are tossed on the compost

I will rot

happily

even though that ludicrous metaphor is akin to limburger cheese

biological armpits

familiar stuff

comprehensible to anyone

my parade has no drummers

as many mathematicians

probably fewer aristocrats

the route leads anywhere

everyone is welcome

no one is in charge

one thing, though

it certainly is fun

and there are no flags flying

no sacred relics

no chanting

even the sun takes no precedence

mysteries of an old wife's tale told in a gale

of legends past

ANOTHER DAY

imagine that the best thing

better than any dream

was realized

and that it was nothing like any dream

that all the horrible stuff that would go away

didn't

that sunrise glory could not possibly match

and it was better

that people you hated were still hateful

yet worthy of admiration

way beyond their dreams

yet speaking was still not possible

that the whole panorama was not different yet changed

and then simply wash the dishes

update files

put clothes on hangers

all the usual things

who would know or needs to know or could know

all dandelion seeds in the wind

permutations of Persian rugs on the floors of tents

of desert kings

falling in fields beyond freeways and overpasses

settling in creek beds

with makeshift barbeque grills

and doves cooing overhead

waiting for scraps

if any

I could not fathom it

would a roving news cameraman ask my sanction

and would I reply

at all?

shaved heads and robes pass by

chanting: Ho!

and I reply:  Yo!

my bowl is empty

strange, is it not

how the day changes

there have been and will be Santa Anna winds near LA

fires to rival the destruction of San Francisco in '06

and in the meantime

in my exercise yard here in Santa Clara

god's country is spared again

heat waves, floods, tornadoes in the Colorado high country

and doing heavy work I hardly break a sweat

Rosie reclines on her backyard throne

a lawn couch provided for infrequent visitors

and on the planter box beside her

the compost bird alights

and looks at me, then Rosie, who doesn't stir

I have told her the bird is family

does she understand or is it just too comfortable there?

all this floating by

as though I knew how to swim

but it is moot

egg shells and coffee grounds from the kitchen

are appreciated

and I hope Rosie will not eat my friend

the mower has been running better

awhile back Garden Land had a new product:

Mechanic in a Bottle

years back my sister sent a clipping:

Gloves in a Bottle

way, way back there was a story someone told:

Genie in a bottle

and then there was that famous caterpillar on a mushroom

who had a good rep until machines stole his name

and ripped out Blossom Hill

slowly the advantages of brown rice, lentils and barley

have been made known by my gut

which is chief quartermaster for the whole enterprise

and my stomach has issued warnings about eating too fast

the whole organization has been my fortune

from the beginning

I do wonder about all this writing

there was no order from headquarters

well

perhaps you will figure it out

people do foolish things

in the meantime, somehow

there are dishes

yards and Rosie

Susan and everything

ALL BETS

the next mass extinction will be interesting

or mistaken or irrelevant

nonetheless

the record shows that past extinctions

took longer than a few years

would anyone's grandmother remember?

but our records do

and somewhere in the genome

my records do

on which aisle or shelf is beyond my expertise

but Nostradamus lives there

the moon is a record which anyone

with an internet connection

can read in detail

and so I tend my tomatoes

they are not for sale

do not vote or pay taxes

are perhaps revolutionary but certainly not

alarmist

we are Siamese, if you please

here on the plantation

tsunamis, asteroids, thousand year volcanoes do not please

after all

the ash settling and settling makes it hard to breathe

trading carbon chits

as the next gamma burst of stellar inconvenience

makes world leaders and trees, harbors and so on

into ash and insects will not inherit the earth

the odds are spectacular

maybe the lottery is better

plunk down a buck or two

hey!  and a hot dog

there

aren't we better now?

maybe now

but it has happened before

if not for monks in the Dark Ages

our memory might have been erased

a method of reading the earth

and recording it

remember when you were a kid

and civic mucky mucks dug holes around your high school

and buried time capsules?

it was the genes talking

INVISIBLE LUMINESCENCE

all the wiring of the world

airports and sewerage treatment plants

infiltrate the front yard here

microscopic roots in communication

crows swooping overhead in the morning

as we exchange greetings

on the natural internet

so begins the end of a night well spent

in unlikely ruminations

grave and wonderfully humorous

perhaps a Mark Twain moment

passing by while clinging to a log on the Ohlone river

the wiring is twisted

colored strands wrapping strange shoots

birds that peer

then fly away

a wonderful land in the morning

creeping vines and tiger lilies

in everyday yards

in my limitless domain that laughs at rulers

I laugh at myself

in roughly an untended rhythm

an unintended rhyme

oblivious as hindsight at sunrise

isn't it just as tinkly as Christmas?

a waterfall

bats emerging from their caves

books with allegories

boon companions of stranded heroes

bouncing stones

in a desert

dryness of the air in climate's heat

pastoral assumptions of history replete

with sudden reversals

that wrench mustard and ketchup bottles from accustomed shelves

dryness brings natural cooling

for the time being

and kids on razor skate boards gliding

assumptions

to strike the common theme

are peregrine falcons in their sleep

that awake after that good night

and clean their claws

on primitive beaks

love is a many splintered thing

even though it is Thursday and I stabbed myself with a splinter

the wound is disappearing

there are miracles

ruminations

the Maginot Line for instance

protecting France with generals of the last war

and our entire infrastructure in the same position

as nerd devils plot our destruction

but don't they have the wrong target?

couldn't it be our way of thinking?

perhaps neuro-devils will find the code

convert our error, or alternatively

amplify it

leading us all to the oven we have constructed

so this is not your average newscast

where Geico lizards and Budweiser frogs

bring comic relief

to a climate disaster that is profitless

but not blameless

the wiring is there for all to see

most don't

but no matter

for those who do

it is a wonderful land in the morning

wiring?

to be sure

wonderful?

not a poetic expedient

wiring, words . . .

all fading in plain sight

POINT MIRAGE

there are no flags here

no memorial day

no sacrificial BBQ

world disaster proceeds with a notable lack of celebration

Tabitha, in her purrful way, does not notice

her squinched eyes are focus enough

mercenary armies, chess boards, suicide bombers

bankers and other criminals

have nothing to do with her water bowl

she does her best, as a cat

and we try to understand each other

as the sun rises she waits until I have stretched

to begin her petition

for release into the new day

these fortunate circumstances exist in a vacillating dance

of pressure systems

high and low

relationships which bode well or ill

for our sweat index

and air conditioners

Bart strikes, traffic clots

all the tin cans and fairy tales

but then

I have signed no contract

fear no fury of postponed publishers

and

in fact

the digital code which represents this ephemeral presentation

may have provided a clue

the missing link

from a chain of deception dating back to

who knows when the secret was hidden

not to be revealed

quarantined in solitary confinement

and forgotten

perhaps an exaggeration

but sufficiently real

to raise a suspicion

that things may not be as seemly as deemed

and perhaps your secret mind

is

SUFFERING

as house lights dim

a flickering hologram captures the virtual stage

animals in cages are enjoying virtually instant food

dormant violence of captors then forgotten

simple arithmetic calibrates the degree of imprisonment

only commodities are real

for debtors or those refusing virtual food

would you prefer life imprisonment?

suffering is a sort of fiction

cut my arm off

undeniably excruciating

if I live

suffering reverts to the pain of existence

pathways out are offered

practices, rituals, observances, moral laws, beliefs

and such

an accretion of precedent has established the rules

not lost on the observant few

 in danger if not already imprisoned

it has been said, probably by Christians

that everyone has their cross to bear

distractions branch out from there

what matters is how we deal with it

suffering

a virtual reality

can be exposed by seeing through the ruse

which is or is not easy

depending on an unflinching observation

of everyday, ordinary life

right here

when computing damages

pain and suffering are linked

eliding precedents of violence

but suffering is not illegal

it promises real freedom

as the virtual cage disappears

IF IT PLEASE THE COURT?

do not read this

(written by one who disavows debt)

the mortgage company has made a share cropper of me

by rights assigned, effectively, at the point of a gun

the land called "mine" and all that it contains

is subject to what is erroneously termed "repossession"

should I miss a payment

(called "default")

making me a criminal

a moral outlaw

though I was free

so the story goes

to assume my debt

consider some alternatives:

living in the desert, or down by the creek

under a freeway

which is not in the least free

where cops periodically come through like the Pied Piper

in reverse

with guns, tear gas, batons

and the whole façade into collapses

truth

unvarnished

an inconvenient truth

like the weather

who says the mortgage company gets to do this?

law

an inheritance rooted in slavery

 slaves are owned

property is owned

and who is the owner?

if you get my drift

and who owns the money?

isn't that simply a matter of definition?

and why do I have to pay interest?

oh, I am duty bound

words assigned by whom?

as long as there is a gun to my head

however camouflaged in legal garbage

I pay

or barbeque frogs down by the creek

but I am not the least confused about slavery or honor

if ownership is honorable

it was denied from the beginning

and having escaped through the narrowest slit

in our American Constitution

I am not a slave

in the coming debacle

primed by the "foreclosure mortgages" of our national meltdown

a global conflagration fueled by climate change

definitely

I will not do the honorable thing

and you have read this far

haven't you

3-D PRINTING

in the world of decisions and judgments rarely

does the fundamental peacock spread its plume

yet suddenly in waking life the dream

supersedes

and all the training of a lifetime

recedes

sulfuric fumes invade the discourse

hurriedly fanned away

in polite society

we cannot talk like this

rather the next iteration of Pi, or of persistent majorities

must set the theme

and all the while our schemes run amok

so assign them to machines

which also get stuck

having followed our instructions

so take the presumption further

perhaps a fractal algorithm or a hierarchal pyramid

and let them generate generations

of their own dimension

to show the way

eliminate terrorism, welfare moms, senators

and other extremes

and I recall a circus tent encountered in my teens

a booth with a Coke bottle and a long handled fork

place your bet, gently tilt it up, without overdoing . . .

oops! goodbye quarter . . .try again?

checks and balances

nothing could be more amusing or instructive

than to pit the fundamental divide against itself

of course this is rationally defective

which is precisely the point

the peacock ruffles his magnificent display

I clear my throat and step out the back door

sitting on the power line from the pole to our roof

my tufted friend emits a chirp

soon I will emerge with a bowl of kitchen scraps

all the world's a stage

actors ad libbing

their wholeness in parts

FREEDOM RIDE

a bumblebee in a sea of pollen

does it know it's bumblesome?

the county Ferris wheel has given up shedding tears

pigs and cows and chickens lining up for menial jobs

at Amazon.com

my shed is not rain proof

in fact gaping holes expose the sky

and up there, at a great distance, a jumbo jet

is not quite bumblesome

there are people playing cards

in shadowed nooks amongst the pigs

cows, and chickens clucking, cards slapping down

there will be a payment of brides

hidden from wandering yokels

"Call!"

a scattering of chips

and the deal is done

chickens, pigs and cows obediently file offstage

it is a travesty of justice

lost upon all concerned

except the sow cowering in a corner

her day

has come

C'mon! I say

and raise the gate

we'll get out of here!

and she follows

we cross the fairgrounds

passing strangers in holiday hats and blazers

a young girl with blonde hair and braces on her teeth

eating cotton candy

no one seems to notice, really

C'mon girl, we'll make it

she waddles her best

until finally, just coming round the teriyaki chicken booth

we get to the main gate

the smell is tempting and the sky is blue

but gate keepers are the first to notice

something strange

the sky flickers like a silent movie

buttons are pushed

it has all gotten out of hand

as we exit the circus

sirens crowd in all bumblesome

security cameras spy our guilt

it ruffles unbrocaded

a suffocating curtain crashing down

onstage

officers with stun guns and tear gas

choke themselves in the blood of their own batons

blind rage

stumbling in haste

justice its own author

unanswerable

we catch the muni bus

riding free