I learned in school but what a pity
Forgot raindrops fall with constant velocity
It's not by chance but a matter of balance
Betwixt the weight of the falling drop
And sum of the buyoant force and friction of air.

But to be very fair I really don't bother
And when there's smell of rain in the air
Without thinking about laws of motion
I take a brolly or any other precaution
Yet I feel it a joyous achievement
When I lay my head bare to the firmament
So they pour and drench me every bit
Dollops of raindrops cool and sweet
Can't be defined in words the wellness I feel
When over me from the tree the drops spill.

Some see aliens in the architecture
others Gods and demigods.

Chaotic demographic blunders
Hubble to Web a trillion dollar set
GLOBONIC bilateral squander.

Where are we going to
and WHO is going through,
only time will tell.

Imagine

Origami Swan.


Unfold and
Press-


Hey Presto,
A Blank page or

A poem from
Your man

I talk to the pines. I sit
under their boughs of perpetuity,
rest my head against a security of
surety I can't quite grasp.
I tell them I am lost, that the search
has been costly. I tell them
I am the red squirrel
who lost one too many nuts.
I tell them the axeman has no love
for the taxman, though both
have been cut loose. I tell them
nosotros fuimos hechos
para más que esto. I tell them
there are things I've done
that not even the clearest sky
could observe, that pride is the fall
of the haughty man
and what comes after isn't worth a mention. I tell them
Old Man Wibble may have been
a drunken fool but at least he knew
what he was doing. I tell them
my attention has leisurely slipped
into a dimension quite immeasurable.
They wave their boughs
like wings in the wind. I tell them
this song could never be wrong
for the music is our own.

-------
As a mortal may, I may imagine
I let myself drift with circumstance

and dance with the other half of me,

who gets this chance, just once
in a lifetime and lets it pass,
meaning nothing more,
than a thought,

fit to an instance.

We all have two minds, you know,
and those two think differently, alone;
but as we grow old and learn patience
perfecting persistance fitting instantiations
of the algorithmatic weform, we form upon

agreement, left hand sees the letters writ
I and e, left best and right best intentions,

combining minds to make a polimental me,
and whatsoever such agree, makes
aggravation heavy enough

to squeeze a mysterious fluid from
the first living stone to presume life's no fun,

yes, we be the augmented, minding wisdoms,
falsely called sciences of religion, using assisted
memory machinations, virtual how to persistence,
with go backs, and do overs, Mulligan's, to some,

mere next in truth, a step taken is never taken
back. In truth, each life's lived in go now mode,

later is as one might expect, having had days
like this in times past, spectator status revoked,

insanely great ideas fed crumbs, smile slightly.

There is a
screaming
screeching pain
that is so raw.
It's like a
mouse caught in
a glue trap.
It must be locked
away for no one
to see or handle.

And sometimes
on moonless nights
when no one is
around, and the
owls have killed
their prey, and the
teardrops have been
bottled and sold on
the black market,
you may be tempted
to take that pain out,
like a slice of pie,
and taste it.
Be careful.
It may have
fermented and
developed a mind of
its own.