The universe shows Her work

Not just another fiction

According only to Him

The opportunity of every being

Combining intimate moments

With history and time

These moments live and breathe

Cross cultural beauty and identity.

This is not a picture that will fade

This is an art that will endure

You came from the country
Have you forgotten
Your ancestors:
Farmers & blacksmiths
Working & Repairing
You didn’t start this:
You helped build it
Not by making blueprints
Not by creating plans
By lifting with backs and hands

Some thoughts about returning to that place

a fascinating cultural mirror

a quality not peculiar to this century

They believe in Freedom™ there

Freedom of religion (Christian) &

Freedom of speech (Conservative)

Each of these perspectives immutable

Not moving outside the boundaries of past experience

No deeper understanding of complexity

No explanation of complex principles

the perfect introduction to today's values

I was in kindergarten:
I would race home after school
Trying to beat my sisters
I was not speed racer cool
I just wanted the TV first
But they’d form the head
And cut me off from my show:
It was Astro Boy
I did not understand it,
But Tobio was so nice
Perhaps if my sisters hadn’t
Jonesed the old black & white
To watch “The Guiding Light”
I’d be a weeb today

Hand painting on the wall

Sculpture of a lion man

Engraved deer bones

The debate seems old,

Maybe older than us

Were our cousins first?

Did they start art?

Is it uniquely human?

Did our ancestors see it

And decided like A.I.

To steal it from others

The game is guessing
First person Waldo
Street signs give away
Where he’s at
Some pictures point
Like DiCaprio’s meme
Others have me
Doing math in my head
Some street in the midwest
Got me stumped
Thinking this land is dead
This town’s white bones
All look the same to me

Trapped in the twilight
Day turning into night
Colors chucked into the grinder
The tasty morsels you find there.
A twist on the trope.
Find the hidden rope,
Holding things together.
You look but don’t ever.
Feeling of frenzied imprisonment
Once begun, the end’s imminent.
First glance is the tip of the floe
This is important for the show.
Old predicting the fall of the young
Starts the new song sung.
The link between life and memory:
I’ll finally die when they’ve forgotten me.
My place assured
Death has the last word