#reformulation
in a reforested mountainside, an equipment of men,
gather to harvest their forgotten predecessors plantings,
they comb and come with tools of great precision, honed,
carbide-tipped steel, high-alloy and high-speed steel,
teethings of diamond tips to abrade the resistant skin of the raw
material, ironic desirable for its very hardness that yields unwilling
to the saws of ant men, confident in their superiority, and the
tenacity, of the combine of men + machine, to bend nature into its unnatural components…
the radios crackle with warnings, shouts of ‘timber!” marking
a new stage, of objectified transformation, a tree is now timber,
de-branched, plucked and ready~prepped for transport to the killing mills, to become lumber, further on in their reformulation into boards of baby sized building blocks, and the irony of the cut is lost on no man. for they too, cogs and cognizant, will be cut, felled and fallen,
some in the prime, some unseasoned green and too early for usage,
and others who, have reach a stage too~aged, inutile, scrap readied,
few by their own choosing, unlike the hands that chose
these trees…
my heavy head crashed into early into a bed of fern, the brain then rem~cleansed, the troublesome underbrush cutaway, and rewakened reworked, reformulated in the minutes either side of midnight, with pencil and paper, progeny of the tree, I’m summoned by the invisible hand, to compose a compost of disposition by words, a pasty pastiche
of the amorphous sedimentary graphite that is redeposited onto
the paper…
is it poem or essay, a dream transcribed and transcripted, a reformulation of self, a metaphorical myth of my own demise,
and I’m reminded of the lyric of Mad World:
“ … And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had”
in the downward sloping, slouching process,
that marks the body’s agenda of its aging aggrievement agreement,
when and where balance, is an unaffordable luxury,
my willing words fall by the wayside of my travel and travailing,
seeds for seedlings,
new plantings,
and I shed them willingly, even eagerly,
disowning them to whomsoever dare
retrieve them from the forest floor,
or cede them to the passerby wind
for a random reforestation
reformulation,
knowing well in advance that
their by~products
will find their way into
your hands,
your mind
and now that it is the right side of the twelve o’clock hour,
we can begin over again,
reformed and reformulated,
from beginning to the
end.
<nml>
~~~~
12:17AM
Sabbath Eve
Fri Jan 20
2026
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 11:25 PM UTC