Change is necessary.
Change is require.
But is change sufficient?

Change is a diversifier.
Change is a niche filler.
But is change transformative?

Change is not good.
Change is not bad.
But then what changes do we keep?

Heuristic small change we like?
Perpetuating idiosyncratic Absurdities?
Selecting traits for "survival"
in a world of our own creation.

Do you understand the Michael Jackson trap?

Real Evolution is easy.
Diversity + Mobility = Survival
But cosmetics is much harder.

What will the monkey see in the mirror?
Will he like my face?
Will I have diversified my humanity,
change my BIOS for faces,
to an arbitrary Facebook,
Unrecognizable to a nostalgic monkey?

Do you like this painting by Friedrich?
YES or NO,
A binary one or zero answer please,
true or false.

I like recognized neural solutions
posed to logistically regressed ideas.

Do you like the color
BLUE or YELLOW?

YES, I did like GREEN,
so slender and bright
faced in her youth.

We were adolescents with too many connections
And maybe not enough pruning.
Or maybe we were just mixed and mash-up,
media saturated?

What do you think?
Did you lust for GREEN too?
YES or NO, true or false.

And now, are we adults or autistic kids?

We withdraw, refuse to recognize faces,
limit human touch because it's all
too overwhelming-- reduced to visual cats,
difficult to herd by old Hands
and cooperative Rules.

We wanderer above the Cloud
seeing answers from a Fog of Random data.
Old world romantics, Greenhorns
in the brave new world of hard logic
and emotional detachment.

If we randomly assign
BLUE = false, YELLOW = true, and GREEN = lust;
logic tells us false AND true must equal false.

A novel recognition that sometimes when
BLUE mixes with YELLOW, we are again BLUE!

By sheer force of color faith
and romantic human sensibility,
we mix falsehood with truth
to arrive at what we desire.

In our blue hearts, and yellow skin
we still green after romance.

Spinach
Lettuce
Bourbon

Chicken
Mushroom
Scotch

Rice
Sardines
V­odka

Perhaps it's a coda of sort
and not a quota
on a 'list to do'
or in any way quotidian.

Let's revisit words
like old friends,
with faces now wrinkled
almost forgotten,
vaguely remembered,
loosely associated
with a mood,
maybe a tone,
or was it subject matter,
form and content?

Playing with a Tempest
teetering silently
on a quiet Sunday
afternoon.

BUT it's only Wednesday!

George.Carlin.stuff
window.shopping.green
jacket.turquoise.dress
­my.our.stuff
close.2.kiss
brief.closeted.mix
somewhere.sapphire.s­hift
somehow.cerulean.drift
wish.holding.past
we.stuff.me
faded.l­eave.memory.

Text me
Test me
Trust me
Tempt me
Tell me
Take me

We say with Glee to each other
"you're gonna miss me when I'm
gone", tap, tapping a hollow,
rhythmic heart beat tune we all
can dance 2.

Blue songs -- heart break, and heart
make -- comforting white
noise from a TV left
on because we need company
while shuffling about our
widowed empty nest.

Is the truth always sad or
does it make us angry?

The clinical diagnosis is no one
will remember when I'm gone.

There'll be no shrine in a living
room reminding us
of Vietnamese grave sites
where my father's, his
father's, my uncle's, and my cousin's
names are written.

All the boy's names are forgotten.

Modern girls need closure, shutting
the door to past boys
because it hurts too much
when the shoe is on the wrong
foot.

We wonder which gender
neutral Gloria will survive,
and which stupid
lock should have been changed,
and which door must close
forever, forgotten.

Maybe the truth does set
us free, but we don't realize
it yet and still comes back to
haunted houses,
spending ghost money from
a displaced parent's love wallet.