They are naked
And they don’t realise that they are being
Milked
By the p u l s a t i n g fur-tunnels

THIS IS CAPITALISM.

he looks to that place
hidden in the grey folds and
white matter where the words
and images are birthed

all he sees are blue beans:
jelly beans, frijoles beans, kidney
beans--all as blue as robin's eggs,
strewn on a pitch black field

he waters them to see
if they will grow, for surely
this field is of magic or
at least dreams

but, it seems, nothing
sprouts; the fallow field remains
the same: a bed for countless
beads of blue

he lays his stylus down,
a sword he wielded for naught,
closes his eyes for a final view,
and all he sees is blue

Many would take it
as the midway station to heaven
nineteen hundred miles up
can heaven be far away?

Some would even think
that sixty three million years
is eternal enough
especially for those hopeless potbellied souls
knowing that it’s impossible for them to pass through
the tiny eye of a needle
here, God is not
the Final Judge

Of course there are details to be worked out
for instance, should there be racial segregation
like that in the old South Africa
so as to preserve the purity of the ashes?
Or, as long as they can afford to pay
should even dogs and cats be allowed?


* Many years ago a Houston space service company had a plan to send human ashes into space.  According to the plan, ten thousand human remains would orbit the earth at a distance of nineteen hundred miles for a minimum of sixty-three million years.

A cobra
Through its skin
Doesn't crawl
It sleeps in the mud
And they hold up
the heavy stick
To give it
The second death

I saw galaxies in your eyes
But all you saw in mine was your own reflection.