windowless day,
particles of strange salt on his brow,
generator man
on the coil,
double-sided,
a love for radioactive honey:
a storm in a teacup...

but for some reason
could not reciprocate
due to the metallic taste in his mouth,
and so he seemed driven
to build his electrical dream,
and took comfort from his pigeons,
the “lightning machine,”
the hair on his head bristled
as he discovered his purpose
in rings of glory that died
as flags of dust...

Entertained.
Contained.
Maintained.
Retaining access to once knowns,
sit still listening, not thinking anything
- calling living winning, then quitting.

Get up and ask the truth to forgive
me as I have forgiven, and correct me
where my functioning is hindering.

Stretching the cord to tie the load…

Become what truth embodied is,
cushion the fall from the stacked
featherbeds for religious businesses-

thumpwhump, takes y'breathaway

Conscienceless conscious necience,
all automated - due souly to luck in
the making of DNA, you see,
discovery is the easy part,
much more inter-
esting testing resting mind mingle,
estimating instants time in transit…
imagining the code used to build
the ladder, up one side, down the other.

Handling, managing manacled hopes,
most substantial, dashed to smithereens,
whither in the rearview I see you not looking,
not noticing the era we lived through, seeing

sublime simplicity unfold before us as we examine
essential, necience, non knowing unrecognizable,

feeling path, finding fortunate occasional fruit sweet,
as a path crossing fruiting bough slaps

sweetness perception from reward schedules,
stinging sensation, signal sending saying, it's okeh,
sudden sinking subtle ******* muddy awareness,

sniff, just agnosis dripping,
thinking life's a trip, travel light.

Ai, as it is, in my nature,
my bend in the river, rounding an edge,
drop
off…

question I have ever had, is how's they do it?

Jeffers and Emerson, rich men, to begin with,
eh, what a difference
a childhood makes,

or a pension, I suppose, as good as rich,
growing old and happy, satisfied,
with what the rich man had, had he had
this satisfactory mind,
in my time.

now
and then
i like
to turn off
the lights
let the moon
and instinct
guide me
swallowed
by the dark
there is no path
   to choose
only chance;
blind luck
balancing upon
   the finest of lines

eyes will adapt
to the pitiful offering
of the clouded crescent
but
there is neither
enough silvery light
nor confidence
to be sure
of safety
for long

in the enveloping darkness
anxiety rises
fear overpowers
and faith
in the self
becomes questionable;
headlights
are flicked on again
in panicked haste

as the road
and its obstacles
become clear once more
i am left
wondering
if i truly believed
i could navigate
without the help
being offered
or
if i simply
wanted to
force myself
into failure

9 seats
9 brains
9 kids
All kids
Expected to know
To understand
Expected to focus
On a screen with no meaning
No root in reality
A brain being molded
On another’s dime

// EW

St. George, Utah, 1953
Look out your window
What do you see?

***** Harry
And winds that mean no harm

Nice big mushroom cloud
Gonna dust your farm

ee-I-ee-I-o

dante
testing
god

You left, I turned out right.