Compound eyes
Astonishing spectacles
Clairvoyant views from above
Wings glistening in the light of the sun

Buzzing long bodied mystical stories
Dragon's breath of spiritual eloquence
Releasing the bugs eating away at conscience
Skeletal spine of an egoless monk
whispering harmoniously the simple remedies
of cleansing thought

My snake doctor
Quick witted unmasker
your view 360 degrees
Focusing on the movement
and pesky mosquitos that feast
That leave us scratching our heads

I look on so enviously
at Lady Dragonfly
as she hovers angelically
In an eternal sky

It saddens me that the great one's lives are
always cut too short
but her legend lives on timelessly
Dating way back to Permian    period

drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace
of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp
only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun

all else, perverse interlopers from modernity:  
bullet banged beer cans, truck tires,  
and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic
waiting patiently for the next ice age

no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here

deep beneath the bed though
progenitors rest, theirs and ours,
antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows
my footfalls above them today
tomorrow silent where they lay

The shale abounds
above the pounding waves
with perfect snapshots
of a lost, impossible world

Images beyond the skill of sculptors,
ridged, spined and rippled
frozen in rock, of rock -
who could have guessed
how long the armour would protect?

And yet -
trilobites
who ruled the shallows
when dinosaurs were but a glint
in Pachamama's eye,
are dead, gone, passed over
in the battle for existence.

While in the boiling surf below,
the jellyfish
who still blithely ride the tides
insolently call:
"Good luck wi thae shells, boys -
"Bet yis'll be safe wi thaim!"
and disappear
in a bubble of translucent laughter.

They call it crude.

The dessicated then carboxilated, carbonified,
****** of dead Permian flesh.

This is the reason the salamanders die.
Corporeal concreted, mummified, fossilized.

This is the reason we dance.
Dirges of West Texas dirt romances.
Lost in the flares,
Caught in the gases blaring making nostrils glare.

Requiescat in pace.

All these women.
Dancing through the caliche,
Giving a reason to taste the air.
Through one breath of speechless.

The loam is never settled where boots tread and weather.
Destroying bedrock through hydrolic fracking to the earths core.

I land my toes in the sand of the Llano.
I ******* Mexicans, greasy, with cheese,
With.



Hot.
Sauce.



Dorthy never went to the fest of Oil.
But there's no place like home.
Her silver slippers or prosthesis feet placed instantaneously upon me.
Would bring me directly into a thorny,
Patch of Mesquite.

I am 14.6 billion years old. I am energy traveling at the speed of light,
I am a single proton with one orbiting electron, perfectly balanced
With quarks and bosons and higgs inside
And pieces of matter yet to be understood by man.
I am every star, every atom of Hydrogen fused to Helium.
I am a massive object of molten rock, cooling and fusing.
I am trilobite knee and dinosaur tooth,
Wooly mammoth hair fiber.
I am Permian Extinction, I am Ice Age, I am all surviving species.
I am most distant brothers of man, I am first language and first songs.
I am Bubonic Plague and Death
And life out of new molecules from old.
I am the Industrial Revolution,
I am Depression and Holocaust and oppression.
I am titanium and assembly line.
I am Perseid meteor shower and Halley ’s Comet.
I am every black hole,
Inside, another whole universe of me.

I am seconds young, and I have much to learn of
The multitudes of the universe, myself.

Blessed are the blind—
Reborn on new Permian shores,
Bone eyed hollow shells.

(any relationship between the following poem and living persons -
namely the writer of these words ranks as purely coincidental and fictitious).

nevertheless he suffers existential blight
covered head to toe
in black and blue bruises
linkedin wherein
yours truly (himself) did self flagellate,
less for religious reasons,
than cuz he felt contrite
about his mein kampf and hard times,
where purpose driven life
when once upon a time,
he happened to be
a happy go lucky little boy
imbibing rich scents and sensibilities
of mother nature brought delight
observing flora and fauna
while sitting asprawl upon greensward
sharing quietude with Georgie
(his Box/Dalmatian family dog,
they shared the same birthday)
now a doddering blind,
deaf, and dumb old man
Tommy (to me) sensational resplendent
quintessential planetary magnificence
no longer didst excite
subsequently his dead soul,
when free from corporeal constraint
will embark upon spiritus mundi flight
hoping to acquire martyrdom veneration,
when he uneventfully segues
from being among the living
to gleefully join the deceased,
albeit grateful dead into the realm,
where eternal serenity
found within soul asylum height
espying how humanity in general
and Project 2025 in particular
found **** sapiens devolving
into World War III as trappings
of civilization (and its discontents didst) ignite,
where survivors (analogous to foreigners,
who just landed on alien nation)
scrabbled across rubble strewn landscape,
especially as dark shadows
crept along the edge of night
daring bravehearts to explore
outer limits of the twilight zone
red dilly (dallying) advancing Republicans
donned as trumpeting elephants in MAGA trunks
complete with jacklight
wrought from titanium
(Sia what I mean)?
felling Democratic enemies,
the former tricked out with artificial intelligent
smart and sophisticated firearms
comprised of ballistics fashioned
from one hundred percent kryptonite.

Now a minor digression regarding -  
giving Luigi Mangione
who sported a 3D-printed "ghost gun"
garnering him fifteen minutes of fame in the limelight
killing UnitedHealthCare ceo Brian Thompson,
which ammo etched with the words
"deny," "defend," and "depose"
on the bullets and casings used in the shooting.

Now back to regularly scheduled program,
where yours truly best retire poem,
cuz moonlight sonata filtering thru the window
way past the hour of midnight.

Where upon awakening from dream,
a nightmare found writer of these words
metamorphosed back to the future
videre licet joining rank and file,
when an extinct marine arthropod
that occurred abundantly
during the Paleozoic era,
with a carapace over the forepart,
and a segmented hind part
divided longitudinally
into three lobes,
hence the name trilobite
creatures who throve
from the beginning of the Cambrian Period,
around 521 million years ago,
until the end of the Permian Period,
around 251 million years ago.

Now ye probably wonder less or more
how much longer torment
for thee dear patient reader must endure
before I jump/kick start severance
soon will cometh end of poem
with blessed fate, I assure.

Hyperbole barely exaggerates existential exegesis
as markedly iterated in the book of Matthew.

Upon closing eyes wide shut,
and being whisked at lightspeed
just in time as huge claws
grasp empty air,
he then finds himself
at beginning of evolution
after being hurled further back
even farther across the time stream
when primordial broth covered earth
found him alone as an anachronism
as a sophisticated humanoid
chock full and tricked out
with the latest generation
of quantum robotics technology
electronics far surpassing
even the smartest **** sapiens,
nevertheless artificial intelligence
sets relic of the twenty first century
apart from the madding crowd
of microorganisms in the primordial broth
denying him the likelihood
synonymous with the rolling stone tune
I'll come your to emotional rescue
condemning him to veritable isolation
hounded by mailer daemons,
hence a worse fate than death
dogged his every catatonic step.