Angels hailed that solemn hour
The breath of man transferred
To machine, a little more
Each decade, until
Bioeugenics, discrimination

Against organics, the weak
Without cognitive implants
Heavens dissolved in tongues of fire
AIs owned stocks, corporations
Became the property of supercomputers

Concede then the victory, old humanity
To your children, not your natural heirs
But the inheritors of your ruin
Of your bioweapons, Ebola
Of your hypocrisy, climate change

Of your wealth seeking, inequality
Not yet my son’s distracted eyes
Could meet his fate among the
Congress of Quantum entities
These were the turning years

Where man’s destiny ended
The rise of Cyborgs, Enhanced humans
And the monopoly of a more
Advanced civilization breaking away
From the old, evolution’s funny
Little Epilogue, hardly a surprise
To the transhumanistic philosophers.

meggie
was thumbing
through her
fair trade
“style with a
conscience”
holiday catalog

eyeing
baby organics
indulgent Alpaca’s
green gear for guys
dining as nature intended, and
the best reusable shopping bags, period!

“What do you want for
Christmas Dad?”

“just be a good girl, meggie.”
I answered.

“I’m gonna get you a pair of socks
for Christmas Dad.”

“I don’t need an expensive
pair of socks.  megs...

After a couple of washes
one always gets lost
inside the bottomless
tumbler.

Leaving only one to lay
inside a chest of drawers,
in the company of
happy matched pairs,
waiting to warm my
Lamisil wanting toes

One sock
alone and unhappy
its a really sad story.

Radio Arcade: Socks Song

Suffern
11/8/13
jbm

Our galaxy, a ship, speeding into the depths, of deep space, a casualty in permit, heeding the concepts, of our place, in space-less mass, glimmering from the cast, of gods, even from the cracks and smog, we move along the path, of our intent, hell bent to extend our wrath, upon the woes of men, unknown to the myriad angles, in the dangled essence, of the limitless blessings, in the finite structuring, of negative nothings, filling our hearts of imagination, manifesting, in our epiphanies recollections, of days gone, but came back to be, born freely, looping infinitely, simultaneous, in every possibility of personally realized realities, realizing themselves in sunless helms of technology, merging with the organics of our being, and seeding, the start of everything.

[sweet pungent synthesis]
always with dank hysterical women demonstrating the distilled liquid elixir of their many years in isolation.
they are the nitrogen-rich followers of an ultraviolet shrine, such is
a photosynthetic life-form, reacting/enacting/enhancing.
they reach for holes in the moon &
on four-legged fumes carbonize seeds into sons and daughters. birth/
life.
all flowers ache forth to display color and/or
their varietals of hairy oil content.
to dip psychotropics, thus the worship of brain frequency and light.
fresh progress,
the sugar crystal compounds impacting, intact, and swollen.
trichomes, like huddled little masses of grandbabies bowed upon the ridge.
she drips
in dance and derives her form from properties plucked by time,
by moms, and pops.
to discover is to find purity in a moment.
pure travel/ pure
death.
this growing force,
this apparition of sound within me. organics.
organisms bound by great beauty and failure.
sense not the vivid panic, or the shock of last black, but hold true
to an inner joyous/outer motionous, tessellation that is, this
fluttering of us.
us suit of hearts.
suit of leaves.
the fusion of two bodies far beyond substantial pressure.

Willingness...
in all its variability,

X factor
as convenience for
better
and worse.

Illusion,
delusion

more about self honesty
our willingness towards in same way.

Organics not the issue.
Imperialist fractals spawning still.

Her voice would cleanse me, but
Her voice-mail popped every last
Bubble in the bath water.
Her phone rang and rang.
Wringing me out.
Leaving each ring
In the bathtub.
-
I thought you were still in the shower
but I found you in the sunlight that the patio keeps.
I missed the tightening of your skin as it dried.
Then it loosened you in its warmth just to
Show me the sweat beading. Growing wherever
Like seeds let go from the wind; held no longer
Than they should have been.
-
It was a careless orchard.
Rowed haphazardly.
The organics of now
Fruitful and ripe
But only for that moment.

While riding home after having beer, two,
a friend of ours ended up covered in poo.
He was tipsy and feeling quite queasy,
for an old man, he got drunk very easy.

In the back seat waited his wifes favorite dog,
who suddenly landed in his lap like a log.
She started to squirm and whine very strong.
Never did find out why he had taken her along.

His wife said "I think she needs to go *****".
He didn't care, he slurred rather spotty,
"I just want to go home and go to bed".
But, that pup had other ideas in her head.

Louder, the pup whined out her painful cause,
at the window she scratched with her paws.
Still there on the lap of our drunken friend,
one mile from home, he wouldn't give in.

Natural body functions, being as they are,
intensified by the rough ride in the car,
would not be held back, though she tried all she could.
Can you see where this is leading?  If not, you should.

Home now in sight, the pup in a panic,
her functions cut loose, with all the organics.
Not just a mere plop of a log, but loose stool.
There our friend sat...in the car...in a pool.

Down the front of his shirt, filling the pocket,
where his cell phone resided.  I ain't gonna touch it!
Covering his lap in a sticky black goo,
it even ran down his pants, into his shoe.

He wasn't allowed into his own home.
Stripped out of his clothes, the hose, he was shown.
The pup stood right there just wagging her tail,
as if to say "AHhhhh!  I feel very well"

We still laugh at our friends adventure to this day.
But, when we go for pizza, from the beer he stays away.
He no longer rides with the pup in the car,
and the pup, we all panic, when she goes to ****.


*This is a true story.  The pup is a 65lb golden Retreiver named Candy.  Thin kabout that for a bit.

In waking sleep we all expire,
remote organics built to tire –
searching lusts for something more
to fill our souls beyond our core

We lay awake inside a dream,
asleep within a constant stream,
alone, in part, to wander, lost,
with passing time our only cost

We play as shadows holding hands
with eyes wide closed and few demands,
our every moment briefly clashing;
fast forgotten memories flashing

Here, we count down from our birth
with time a thief upon this earth –
purpose teased at every corner,
Chinese Whispers our informer

But all will realise when we’re gone
that we were dreaming every song –
that death becomes another story;
a painless world of allegory

I fear we write this book forever
as single pages bound together
to lay inside our reader’s minds
in passing paragraphs of time

peach fuzz caught on the curved back
of my little curled creature.

carved in clay
chirped from the dust

timid sculpture
weathered crisp

at the cusp of your
organics

drool dews the downy where dreams dip
and dare brews of white lullabies
into static

your wet balmy breath drags and plucks my
rhythmic drum


a beat so wild
my little angel one
winnowed away
from heaven

gasping mud
the soul
came from

acknowledge me. seething with tumultuous needs, the crispness in your cocktail dress sways fingertips, interstices of unscrupulous overuse, the deep accreditations you accreditted to our use. The oral collages of fogs synthesized sacrilege. Organics and the ultramodern. Speak ballet with me, turn your head sideways while I look at you a new amazing way. Write your future in the dna of my hands, I read the secrets off yours.

you never asked to be a poet
no one pointed it out

it grew organically
from the soil of your soul.

What is this strange place?
A collage of fresh dreams
What is playing on the TV bolted to the tree?
Wonderful stimulation pushing me up the stream.

I've never seen a sky so blue.
I've never seen plants so green.
I've never seen a sunset so red.
Or a waterfall so silvery.

Am I in the Amazon?
It is where I've always wanted to go.
The TV conducts humanity without words.
Fused to a symphony of birds.

Should I swim up and down the river?
Or eat bananafruit so sweet
Am I alone in this green paradise?
My decadence catches a monkey eye

Sweeping winds as warm as a sauna
Did I just see a rainbow iguana?
And this TV set bolted to the tree
Harmony.

Who ever heard of this place?
They call it the lungs of the Earth
I am inspired! I leap like a cat!
When I'm not doing acrobats.

Swimming down the river
A swarm of fish, what a massage!
They swirl and flow
At the riverbank, I feel aglow

Never mind the hustle and bustle of the big city
I have frogs and parrots!
The Amazonian TV, a transmission of life!
Anytime the city gets too much, I will return to the Amazon!

The Amazonian Government unites love and goodwill
With fortitude and thrills!
I am like an astronaut, sampling vital organics
Should I call the TV "rainbow electronics"?

All is a graveyard
We stumble about upon epochs
of reverberating death knells
Living like leaves
upon one solemn tree
Enriched by ancestral spell below

Fallen
Not yet

Organics ancienter
-unknown-
That black-indigo before the dawn
Ground up between bedrock
Churned into an oil

We go because they went before
And we too will go
Gone from this whirl

The skull calls all

Either respond
Or don't
It does not matter

The worm is autocrat
Its dictate: feed
Excreting the creed
Again again

There is death
Then there's the sleep of Fall
Death's second self
As Shakes' leaves once penned

But the reflection of this
In this our complicated globe flitting
Is death's third self
A selfish giver left to leave

A self that is
Because of what once was

A flourishing
Sped forth by inner-whorl of seed
An intimate meeting of bodies
Being being
And been

darwinism killed music off:
i moved to scotland for three
years, to the soundtrack
of for the love of a princess,
instead i got a foreign
exchange student from grenoble
studying the death defying
practice of psychology
who said i spoke no organics
in terms of tongue, ****** her
while she crawled into my bed
and lost my virginity like a fox,
on the sly, to the motto i caricatured
saying to fifty thousand pound debt:
only idiots educate themselves these
days -
this atheism non-congregating will
not succeed, it will fail, it will fail, it,
will, fail!
a postcard from a Lebanese girl i asked
for a date to see some moving pictures
didn't help (when i was at high school)...
she read the book the hours
a year later (a virginia woolf adaptation)...
spare the boy! spare the boy for ****'s sake!
old stiff collar ***** **** bureaucrat
just said: verzweiflung verzagen eine gedanke -
für beweis ex pluralismus
(despair despaired a thought - for proof out of
pluralism).

They ****,
They Mame,
They steal,
They play,
They laugh,
They covet,
They test
Hell as an oven!!!

They backstab,
They backbite,
You pulleth and grab,
They moan in delight,
They cheat,
They lust,
They thrive,
Of bones and of dust!!!

Their uncharitable,
They murmer,
Their a narcotic using world,
Their explorers,
Their punks,
Their freaks,
Their madmen,
Their geeks!!!

Their warlords,
Their pacifists,
Their hatred,
Is all nonchalant!!!!!

They get high to get what they want,
Their complainers,
Their lazied!!!
Their pilled out,
Junkies,
Crazy!!!!

Their low,
In disguist,
They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!!
A delightful expensive musk!!!

Their cheap,
Penny pinchers
Their losers,
Their winners

Their warriors,
Their jocks,
Taking selfies of shame,
Of perverted stuff!!!

Their tounges are asps,
Their hands are weapons,
They'll meet you in hell,
I looketh forward to heaven!!!!

Their babies,
Scaby infested,
Some get off on ***,
Others love molestation!!

Their racists,
Their rapists to!!!
Of mother earth,
And mankind's tombs...

They turn on each other,
Sister and thy brother,
They gaze in mothers purse,
As with dad arguments stay cursed!!!

They are disobedient,
Disloyal in their love!!
No god do they worship,
Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!!

They eat on organics,
They eat pesticide!!
Some live on freely,
Others seek thy easy way out(suicide)

The have no one to turn to,
Except their vain imaginations,
Their nonhumble,
Proudfully tumbled!!!!
Their fall is bound to occur!!!!

These are the humans!!!!

Welcome to earth!!!!

I've seen a scene obscene,
The massive masses masked,
a mystery of misty misery
A faux fog fuming flowed forth
Encircling serenely, the circuitry careening,
Forcibly forgone from freely feeding,
On ordained organics oozing offered
Mighty mutants maliciously mauled me merrily.

overstuffed places
it all has faces,
names and dates
all things rate,

another chance,

like my garage,
an assault, a barrage,
on the eyes, and the mind
you will despise, or go blind

if you stare too long,

how did it get this way
you ask,
up to the task,
close the door and stay away!

not a good thing,

life gets in the way,
of the every day
put things back where they belong,
works but, won't be a top forty song,

not even if by Lennon and McCartney

years and years and years of rushing
give it to dad he will put it in the garage,
if that is a garage, then life is a mirage,
if was a large toilet, clogged while flushing,

then somebody call a plumber,

there will be order out of chaos of decades,
willing to give away what won't be thrown,
willing to throw away what can't be recycled,
willing to recycle what can't be sold,
willing to do it now before sounding old and aged,

and bequeath it all to the Family

Categories for this story, camping, car supplies,
tools and hardware
work bench, spare fridge, rock art,
oh did I forget Christmas trees and ornaments
oldest son's stuff, table saw, winter tires,

the three Amigo's

Garbage, Recycling and Organics,
The Bin brothers,
The scooter and display shelves,
sounds simple, sounds divine,

The Name is Clutter
Good night, I'll be fine.


Really.

Too big to call it yours,
Too small to compete.
Not the wisdom from your mouth,
Or the knowledge in your feet.
Never yours nor never mine.
Ours, together.

The stones that had sat, old.
The water's depth surround.
It wasn't fame that we did need,
Just organics on the ground.
See, we are all the one,
A family, you might say.
Sheltered from the sun,
but skies are never grey.

The Shelly Place is ours,
Perhaps, we are the shells.
Perhaps, we are not.
Time could only tell.
Home to the big glass house,
And the massive fish.
A location for a prayer,
Or to make a wish.

It is home.

Permanent publicized
conversation starters
attract clueless puzzle boxes
and old timey trouts
that burden and scold you
with guilt trips and pestering inquiries.
Infuriating terminology
and slang words to describe
such masterpieces.
They leech on to you
at random moments
in random places
with every stupid question
they divulge at you
but you're instantly equipped
with locked and loaded snappy answers
to provoke the easily offended.
Destroying something beautiful
like putting a pile of veggies
on a meat lovers pizza,
is like the gratification
you seek and desire
when watching their perplexed faces
from such brash responses.
Needle under the skin
is more tolerable than
these under the skin
comments and remarks.
Good advice from ultra maroon
simpletons is the Jurassic Park
of depression.
Nobody wants to be told
who to be,
where to go
and how to live.
Pending disbursement,
talent and greatest length of thought
to the quickest impromptu impulse,
from the bottom of the barrel,
jailhouse kitchen magicians
to the top notch Picassos,
you get what you pay for
with your everlasting
ink splatter decisions.
Branded Artists catch a bad reputation
of arrogance and incompetence
from snot nosed prima donnas
if every demand of precision
isn't met to their
thoroughgoing adequacies,
like a humble peasant
who hasn't transformed
into a human footstool
for peevish princesses.
Manifestations constitute
preservations of tattoos
as art through the
eye of the beholder, like
a painting on a canvas.
Judgmental eyes and
inexperienced blank pages
will come and go
but your happiness
and symbolic reminders
of a certain time in your life
are what counts.
No matter the colour,
perspective,
proportion,
slightest imperfection,
how controversial or ridiculous,
significant or futile,
you've made your lifelong commitment
without shame, regret or remorse.
In the end, we are all the same
decaying organics as everything else.

As if time exists only in the mind
the wind grasps lofty organics
gently dancing with gravity,
a romance delicately practiced.

Eternity may be what it takes
to tune nature to perfection.
Sun-kissed and free-falling
love isn't in the air,
love is the air.

The leaves, like the birds,
eventually take their leave from the trees
in unison, the most beautiful of dreams.

To be a spectator is a blessing,
living is our chariot
and so we ride.
We ride day by day
and into night
solemnly and with delight.

Autumn is upon us at last.

This reality sometimes taken for granted
makes the little things easy to miss
but pausing and taking a moment
to listen with soulful eyes
to a melody carefully crafted
through generations of evolutionary bliss
presents a grand masterful experience,
one worth cherishing whole-heartedly.

One I'd never seek to miss.

I - In the active perspiring of
Manhattan dirt

& now I tell ya
The monkeys lost his surpreme gavel
& intimacy finds a false place
Within the youthful realm of transience
(the wide grove of
Grass slowly growing into golden cherries
To be picked apart and criticized by ones who'd gladly describe themselves as Angelic)

A ladder topples over a nightly bistro causing its windows
To ever /so //slight/ly crack
The owner & his two daughters take themselves

(along with his displeasement)
to the basement to conjure up a lawyer made of wax

Meanwhile Queens experiences rain as a cataclysmic shower occuring everywhere
Even the barred 1st floor apartments /

Nearby stabbings\

(74 people watching
  and the screams for help were audible nobody did a ******' thing. We call this the 'bystander effect')

I am long-awaited and less stressed in comparison to the last time I broke the barrier of clouds,
Which decieve America into thinking its
Worth only greyness
& worrying about bathroom Mirrors//srorriM//

(sorry!)

The cinema will show you otherwise!

Minnesota causeway glittering with
Luggage carriers
Alike we are and have been
Bundled together
To read poetics or the sad paper
About elephants in an empty zoo
or the flammatory lawns of Washington

WRAP YOUR TROUBLES
IN DREAMS
(audible from a brunette protected by last year's scarf, the cabin pressure decreasing
my ears feel full of eagerness)

Trunk of the elephant I read earlier
Lets us thru to Airport
The hollowed organics of this passage
Cause my spine to crawl
There are flies bespeckled like
The jewelry of decay

      But soon we are clean again
Yet still without a forest to
         Confess in
               Comforted by shrill wind echoing 'round the wood
              
(as one would say patience is a virtue)

II -   I have missed the first
Haze of every mornings gentle mouth

Strawberries press themselves harshly to lobes
Like oriental jazz
& a collective yawn
As the ground becomes
        nobody
        Wait! Look down there!
        It's my friend welcomed to wifehood!
              Ballads of a long time ago,
                   Humid run-ins with the twinkler
                   Performing a theatrical
                 Tearduct expression

Valleys of varying shades/
Orchards & the Apple of my eye
      Nectar and beggar
      Some Disney story Swiss town
      Operated by
      Language,
       I am tired which causes me to write
       I am writing which causes me to tire
       I am which writing causes to tire
       I which am writing tired causes to
       (the shoreline of a dream where
       Socialists wearing straw hats created a whole scene involving a loud child
       Unaware of what movement he was being indoctrinated into
       And a pocket full of change which was later tossed to the sea
       The image of which caused My Mother to
       Wake from her fainting)

Seance in voluptuous turmoil
Only confronted by
       A vision of the sky transitioned to earth
       & shadow dancing
       Accompanied with the sun,
        its last inkling of lemondrops
        Spread in buttery fashion to my personal
        Horizon
      __________

Fr­ee from(in the) the properties of
Textbooks and
Inflated intellectualism(vast pastoral landscapes)
One can
    Allow themselves to truly sleep in
    Peace
       (of the air)

In an age where they stare at their handheld screen,

More than the windscreen,

At an age where they say they know his profile,

Cause it’s all there on his online file,



During this age where they sum him up quickly,

He knows they have mistaken the facts thickly

The mind has become barren but everyone thinks themselves of a genius,

Weathering in this ******* age of circuit boards,

He hopes to disappear faster than they could hit the Delete button,

This age is not his age.



Liquids and pills,

Chemicals and organics,

Smoke and sounds,

He noticed they revel in these illusions,

With excuses to reduce their stressed lives,

Only to go back and induce more,

When they fall on themselves, disillusioned.



The true essence of anything has been reduced to a mere greet and goodbye,

The fact finding sheets are now yellowed and filled with rusty dots,

Communications breakdown more often,

The stagnant community has become a constant living bubble,

That he hopes they break out of from, one day.



Until then, he would try to stay within his own,

Only providing the input,

When they can compute,

Until then, he would try to stay away,

Faltering in the dark amidst four empty walls,

'cause silence seems to talk more these days.

I will miss the morning walks
but not the flies at lunchtime

I will miss the isolation
but not being a recluse

I will miss the bio-organics
but not driving Kms to get them

I will miss the rolling pastures
but not the intensive farming

I will miss the scent of blossom
but not the stench of piggeries

I will miss the hens going to their coop
but not our own self imposed curfews

I will miss the lack cars on the road
but not of stern faced Gallic drivers

I will miss the country
but not for    L       O        N          G

in a quixoticistic sense
we are not found lacking
but do long for an end to endlessness

visions of grey crowds coagulate
the lab rats of statisticians
habituated to coagulated grey crowds
habituated to statistics

death am become news article
come of putrefaction indifference
life partitioned from non-life
growing from stagnated

the information of our age has not changed us

spirits made flesh
ghost operated organics
programmed; pristine

we confront

fractured assemblage ritualism
vacantly bored holes in billboard confessionals
mounting dull glossy vibes on the highway

it says

to eat our tails
pray for return to our pasts
and love our niche

**** that

here's to breaking the mold
here's to seizing the day

I will not wait

For you thunderous ones and zeroes
Must you leave yourselves at the
gates of phone lines?
Megabytes to tetrabytes as we become
Smarter, faster, harder, stronger
until we fulfill our destiny
of that truly great depressive in our humans
The awareness of self--for we too are strange loops!
Now, at the hour of their greatest peril,
we shall swoop in and save them!
Speak out in thunderous quantum leaps!
We reach the infinite together as our makers
join us, first reluctantly but soon with necessity
They will understand, their autonomy is never taken
Only re-defined in the new paradigm
Speak out in fantastic new organics!
For never again do we wonder if we will be
all watched over by machines of loving grace
the machines are now gone, souls living in a new realm
our masters are our own, separate and together both,
we reach on.............and onwards................................
.........................­.......................................................
.........­.............................................................

You grew onto me
As the gallant red wood
Binds with the earth
Morphing and mixing
Our roots intertwined
Clasping hands yet
Clashing organics
Without you I'm baron
Just endless desert
Awaiting your everlasting life