From the pages of Peanuts came Linus
Neurotic but here to align us
From his blankie one learns
About coming to terms
Lest our character flaws should define us

It was the second morning of “daylight savings time,” and the change was noticeable.

My BF Peter has a doctorate in applied physics, he's an expert, so I asked him, “How do they move the sun?”

He gave me one of his patented, blank looks, “What, who moves the sun?” He answered.

“Well, yes,” I said, “I suppose the “who” is important, but HOW do they move the sun? Peter can be dense sometimes.

“What are you TALKING about?” Peter asked, his head tilted in confusion.

I explained, “It’s daylight savings, ya? The sun is different, SO - how do they move the sun?”

“They don’t MOVE the sun,” he said, in a smug "I've got a PhD" way, “people set their clocks ahead an hour.”

I was stunned - Could it all be a cheap trick?
How, (I snorted in my mind) could they get everyone on earth to do THAT?

I didn’t argue, but I didn’t set my Apple Watch ahead or my laptop, or my desktop, or my iPad or Alexa - his “apotheosis” was obviously wrong.

He’s a new PhD, they just haven’t told him how they do it yet. I can wait. I patted his hand for support.

Peter also says that, out there in the “multiverse,” there may be an earth where I don’t have homework. First of all, isn’t it just like a guy to believe all of that “marvel comic” stuff?

“So, Superman’s real then?” I asked. He just lowered his head - burn: I had him there.

Secondly, can he get me/us to this planet “No homework?” NO.

Applied physics may very well be useless.

Doomed as he may be
For he is a baby
Lost unto the stars
He crashes onto a farm

Life does it's thing
For he has no king
Eighteen years pass by
The last son takes to the sky

He flies to the city
And he saves a little kitty
He takes to the sky
And he hears a mild cry
He flies to her cry
It's too late for she has died

He slumps at his work
For he is such a dork
Unbeknownst to everyone
The last son tries to save everyone

“Errant knight, and samurai, man of god left to die, by sword and sorcery we fix his body to this crucifix. By storm of blade and blade of bone. He will stand a man regrow. When the hour draws late, he will shatter swords of fate and bring dark heavens crashing down. In his wake I pray the lord your souls he takes. To burn your evil with the might of excalibur so bright. The crucifix will rise again and usher in evils end.”

at 4 am,
the world's asleep.
with only the sound of the flickering street lights,
the crickets that chirp at night,
and the occasional sound of tires rolling,
across the highway,
to serve as a reminder that dead silence does not exist.
the sound of the heavy sighs of truck drivers,
crossing miles upon miles of lonely roads,
the smell of the disgusting, overpriced coffee of tired business leaders,
bought the minute they get off their red eye flight.
still;
nothing can change,
the beauty that's there and remains;
at 4 am,
the world's a beautiful sight.


                                                  -YYC

Billy Whizz!
Billy Whizz!
How fast you run!
You climb the mountains…
You cross the plains…
And when you’re done,
You do it all over again!

Dive past the splash page,
let's melt with the inkstains.
It's Autumn, the heat fades.
               The tale
          is unfolding fast

Now turn past the last page
of last time. We'll retrace
the panels, their contents
               you cried.
          But was it canon?

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
               Place bets on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                         Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.

                      
I've got a feeling--
Let hopes ride; no sure thing.
The voices from downtown,
               they blend--
          a thousand songs sung.

The wind and the trees whisper,
"Encapsulate this
moment. It's flawless."
               It's art.
          And I'm past falling.

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
                  My bet's on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                 Read the writings
                       on the page.
                 The story's drawn
                and the panels laid.
       Waste no ink on departed shades,
                       as they say.
               We're onto something.

                           Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.