Petri dish children run with punctured neon green veins
Raised in focus groups with the touch of a hungry CEO
Who will sell your youth for another car to drive
Built from the dust of a baby boomer cabbage patch
Poked and prodded by the media of a society flamed with consumerism
Where your loosely draped skeleton frame has no more weight than the quarters you tuck in your pockets at weigh ins
Sunken eyes and sideways grins
Little girls are growing up to kiss the bad boys
Tequila soaked, beautiful kisses
Where your idol is a crack ***** beauty queen
Where your every fatal flaw has a rememdy and a price tag
A generation sick with drinks
Plagued by impulse and energy pulsing in tides
With ****** laughs and magnetic orbits
What ever happened to the petri dish children
Built for beauty and style, but left broken and stunning

the server (waiter) raps
praise upon the sushi,
its integrity,
the harmonic
of its construct,
the curated singularity of
each rice grain

the innate elegance of
the thin sliced,
nearly translucent,
au naturel, organic,
ginger root

the skin smooth paste of
green wasabi,
grown naturally
along stream beds in
mountain river valleys in Japan

genuinely puzzled,
when he,
the old erstwhile poet
unabashedly weeps before all

no hero he,
just an overcome one,
his tears flavoring his food

mourning the
celebrated abuse
of his verbal children,
those natured nurtured babes
the stuff,
the words of his definition

each weird word,
loved for their cultured,
unique quality of their history
grown in languages's
perpetual petri dish

asked if something was a matter,
answered yes,

"this plated performance,
such an extravagant essay
on the beauteous wonder
of life's bounty,
left me wordless"

and she, burst out loud in laughter

Lost in a petri dish
Alone with a wish and a can
A list of excuses and a spinning thirst
First and foremost insatiable
The parasitic host of the ball
Falling in a familiar black swirl
Alight and ashamed
Defamed and demoralized
Dancing in divine depravity
An imp to the flame
A slave to the golden glow

only today i came across what interested Heidegger
after writing being and time, a selection
of essays, revealing that he came to be interested
in language - not knowing this, by mere study
of the introduction some things became apparent -
being quiet democratic in my reading it's a shame
i don't have the academic leisurely pace of becoming
a Heidegger specialist - it's the almost damnable
pulling-apart having to cite many influences and not
focusing on one, but since i don't have academic
leisure, the summary in the introduction
by jeffrey powell (editor) of the book heidegger
and language will just have to do: apropos this
being an antidote to those bemoaning that we only
write about reading books, carefully choreographic
our lives for mints and espressos and ammoniac
(inhalants in a boxing ring nearing a knock-out) -
hide pretty bird, hide, hide pretty pretty bird
first your song inside a cage, then the cage inside
the heart, and thus the song with the cage,
silenced inside the cage, raging mad inside the heart.
well, the antidote is that i already have some ideas,
and reading the essays contained in this book would
put me off what i was intending to write about,
so, in summary, read the major work, then read introductions
of critical books from those studying the subject,
invent an original approach from that, and elsewhere.
before i venture into the whole affair of having to
reread certain passages from the introduction as to
guide me in this Bermuda Delta i what to do a little
sidewinder interlude:
in chemistry there are two major bonds (for the purpose
of what i'm intending, let us just assume that
we're only talking about π and σ bonds) -
and while psychology dehumanises man to strict
theories without clear proofs to a universal standard,
i want to do what will come later regarding Heidegger's
take on language, for me there's no clear philosophical
vocabulary to be used - i'm not into orthodoxy and
rigidity which says

                piquant sun strokes against
                the bargains of spring's last
                hope for a kept bazaar
                to bloom to then deflower
                petals from trees fall to earth
                like glasses, the tree stands
                as a reflection of shattered glass
                the petals remain the tree intact
                worn at the Royal Ascot
                or in a woman's hair.

obviously something like this is a poem - what i mean,
however, concerning what's identifiable as philosophy is
to me the following:  
                                        blah = monotone x algebraic
                                                    for­ non-differential
                                                    purposes, just filling up
                                                    the page

            blah blah blah blah blah blah subjectivity blah blah blah blah blah blah essentially blah blah blah blah blah blah in-itself blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah thing-external v. thing-internalised blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah metaphysics blah etc.
                      
                          and so on and so forth, a fixation on using a certain vocabulary to be equivalent or justification to be "apparently" talking philosophy... yet still no gain from the words of grammatical categorisation... for me? too many propositions, the basis of what the academic environment deems to be "pure" verbiage, or none (akin Wittgenstein) - that famous quote about a lion and having tea on Tuesday... or as Buddha would say: said so to shatter thus the fear of ketamine thoughtlessness;

but that's beside the point, i want to return to
how any chemist might treat psychology as a science,
keep it up to date, given that psychology likes
to shove its nose in everyday activities for a strict
expression of equivalent rubric that mathematics already
possesses and shoves into a child's brain to make
the child become accustomed to symbol encoding;
so π and σ bonds, let's say between two carbons atoms...
but in psychology we don't have the luxury of
many alternative examples...
me and language: to write in terms of optics,
to encode images rather than sounds,
language as optometry rather than a hearing-aid...
so what "elements" do we have in psychology,
essentially what defines consciousness, its sub-plot
and its unfamiliar territory - the using the dusty
Freudian units, we know the concept of the superman
(superman was a bad bad boy) from Nietzsche
evolved into the super mm hmm, and we know
there are two other units, mm hmm and the id /
it or that? it is for me, that is for scalpel for the analyst,
the prober, unlucky for the person who took to
objectifying himself, but better than being objectified -
still, remember i'm working with language in terms
of optics rather than phonetics - enough organic chemistry
diagrams and you will see that the bonding between
mm hmm, the super mm hmm and the gemini id
(one the patient, the second the analyst) trapped inside
an electron cloud of bio-electric processes is rigid and
stable due to the opposite of π and σ,
i chose the optic route using the bonds δ and ψ -
symbolically δ is the mathematical term for sum -
summation, the total of - currently i have no clue about
the significance of ψ just yet, but ψ is a symbol of
psychology like caduceus is the symbol of medicine;
a brief expansion on the natures of the bonds,
quack-science δ bonds being all alike meaning uniform
meaning holding every aspect uniformly, meaning
that a δ bond is of the same nature between mm hmm
and super mm hmm in a petri dish within the
solvent of the conscious sub-plot, likewise other variations
δ bonds are uniform bonds, i.e. ensuring one detail
is related to the other, and so to others.
ψ bonds, not much expansion here as promising detail,
asthma the highest research of breath, and all
major theoretical squeezing through the Suez -
depending on the measure of breaths, we can depend
on the internal things - but never so much Pamplona encierro
cleaning-up to do theorising an affirmative sound
like mm hmm, or other affirmative synonyms -
if it were can *****, it would be mince rather than
a clean dissection - mince meat, should mm hmm be
not an *****, let alone a body. so many attachments
to mm hmm these days, it should be attached to zoological
studies than activities of breathing: theory as a cage,
one after the over, eventually not even cages but
the caged animal turning into matryoshka doll -
Kant doesn't venture into the dynamic of his thing-in-itself
represented by the matryoshka as ad continuum -
maybe he does, but to me here merely pinpoints it,
coins the phrase noumenon and ensures the thing
is opened, god or nothing is put in it, the thing is
closed, locked and the key to unlocking it is thrown
away and never found (i'll mention a short process of
his argument some other time, most notably his
three impossibilities concerning proving the existence
of god: ontological, physico-theological and cosmological).
yes, i know, when reading these ****** books
i have to paint the arguments, i need to simplify
them, a poet reading a philosophy has to paint
the words - the best poetic technique applicable to
understanding philosophical books is imagery,
not as a technique of for the purpose of writing my own,
but as a way to paint what was written by some boffin -
precursor to understanding the three impossibilities
of proof, i find it strange that such proof is necessary,
what would you do with it? prove it once on
paper, or in your head, show it to everyone and then
slowly everyone is able, then the so called "man in
the sky" - it seems strange that scientific positivism
of the Enlightenment supposed such a proof, the proof
is more implausible than the existence - Bertrand...
just smoke your pipe and sit in the easy-chair talking
******* with Wittgenstein... more on that later.
i promised quotes from the above mentioned book
(heidegger and language)...

           das wort kommt zur sprache,
             das seyn bring sich zum wort.

working from phenomenology, to later reject it,
thus precipitating the school of deconstruction-ism,
and with Heidegger we do get to atomic elements
from words, from compounds, thank god there are
no sub-atomic ventures with language, quiet impossible
to de-construct language beyond this point,
let's face it, if you go as far as:
'as preparatory for raising the question of being...
language is one of three constituent moments in
the analysis of the being of the da in dasein (being there)'
furthered by equal atom bombardment replacing
the un-compounded sein (verb, be) with seyn (conjunction /
noun, being) - this is modern physics to my understanding,
i'm not particularly interested what he's saying,
i'm interested in painting what he's saying -
i'll spare you the details of what philosophical systematisation
is actually involved in: restricted vocabulary -
a certain limit is allowed, rigid meanings are involved,
rigidity of drilling in of non-deviation, philosophical
systems are not dishonest in that they are consistent with
a limited vocabulary - i will spare you the torture of
seeing one ball being juggled - the shrapnel of the English
language makes it even more distracting to understand,
as with the above, another e.g.?
'every saying of beyng is held in words and meanings
which are understandable in the view of everyday
references of beings, and are exclusively thought in
that view, but which as expressions of beyng,
are misunderstood...' of course i could be cherry picking
Heidegger like a Jehovah's witness cherry picking
the bible, but i'm not interested in what he's saying,
merely painting you the picture, to scale then:

books                      -              celestial objects
chapters                 -               cycles of celestial objects
paragraphs            -               prime features of
                                                 celestial objects
                                                 (e.g. Jupiter's red eye,
                                                  Saturn's ring,
                                                  Earth's oceans
                                                  and continents)
sentences                 -              
words                       -
syllables                   -
letters                        -             atoms / elements  
                                           ah, it was going oh so well,
i think i started too big, and went into too small,
which made visualising sentences and words and syllables
hard to compare what could fit between
Australia and and atoms of RuXe - by chance ruxe is
an actual word, no as stated ruthenium and xenon,
although that too, ruxir (ruxo, ruxin, ruxido) in Galician
meaning to roar.

Antibiotics may be the greatest discovery of human kind.
Lord knows its saved our soul many of times!
Its halo can be seen in a petri dish.
In the smiles of children on hospital wards.

But antibiotics aren't just drugs, or are you my drug?

Because your halo is keeping bad things away from me, my petri dish is clean!
Yet, the goodness is seeping from my bones and I get weaker with every day that I'm in love with you.

To my antibiotic, resistance is futile but finishing the course might **** me.

If I could look past myself to see the world around me,
I know I'd be a better person.
But instead, my thoughts create a light so blinding I have to put up shades that tint the world the color of insecurity just to see.
These shades, this insecurity, is like a funhouse mirror that works against you,
Making those around me immaculate Greek gods who stand a mile high
As I stand lower than dirt wondering how their flaws only add to their perfection while mine stand out like scars on every surface of my body.
But it brings with a comforting sense of consistency in an inconsistent world.
It wraps you in an embrace so tight it both soothes and suffocates you, but you can't bare to let go.
It becomes the overly understanding spouse you both despise and adore.
No matter how many times you cheat on it with false hope and cheap popularity, it
Keeps
Coming
Back

I'm so caught up in my past that I find myself walking backwards so I don't have to watch my future crumble around me
But I found that just because I stand still, doesn't mean time will do the same.
Time marched on and left me lost.
"Here and now" became "There and Then" and I found myself standing in the "Soon to Be".
I realized that at some point, my personality married the wind and left me in a gust that still leaves me cold.

A year ago I was asked if I knew who I was and I said I was like the one thing held constant in a science experiment.
As people were placed in the caged existence, a world the size of a petri dish,
I never changed.
I knew who I was
What I believed

If you asked me today,
I wouldn't have an answer.

One day I questioned reason and existence.
The day I looked to God  and said "this can't be all there is, there has got to be more than this" was the day He sent me an instruction manual wrapped in a silver lining.
I was told to look for the best image of myself and work to obtain it
I found that it isn't easy turning the desert into the Garden of Eden

I speak in two tongues and they both hiss at each other like snakes.
Tripping over my own words as my mouth becomes a battle ground.
I stand on the side-lines looking in. Waiting for the opportunity to announce my presence.
A foreigner in my motherland and a foreigner in a sea of white faces,
And I do not fit the colour scheme.

I’m a stranger, an alien, something to be prodded and poked at and made to squirm.
A minority not to be distinguished from a sea of cloth draped women.
An epitome of the strange lands of deserts and spice.
And hung above my head is a dark cloud of stereotypes and misconceptions.

The Western woman wants to fight for the freedom of the daughters of Eve,
Not understanding that her view of liberation tastes different on my tongue.
So I’m left helpless to the hot iron lens of the media, examining me like a specimen on a petri dish.

My identity, a crumbling church still worthy of all the worship.
I memorized my history books then forgot all the verses.
I grew up haunted by my ancestor’s curses.
I’ve shed so many layers of my skin attempting to fit in, now I no longer recognize myself.
I gaze into the mirror and my reflection looks away, too afraid to make eye contact with a stranger.

I am a human split in two by borders that require passports and stamps of approval.
One half of my bleeds in red, white and blue, and the other the ashes of a burning nation.
I soak up every atom in my body with a culture that isn’t mine,
And speak words that feel heavy on my mother’s broken tongue.

Embedded in the arms of parents who are too afraid to let me go, because the world is cruel to women who don’t belong.
I am like glass that has been shattered into a million pieces, and then painstakingly put back together again.
Delicate to the touch, quivering beneath broken knuckles and clenched fists.

In the back of my mind lie vague recollections of the hot marble floors of a childhood home,
Of crevices etched into unfamiliar smiling faces,
And a country which my roots have been uplifted from.

I am a kaleidoscope. A kaleidoscope of clashing colours but you, you only view me in black and shades of grey.
I question how to belong without jumping into a skin suit that’s too baggy at the sleeves, because one size does not fit all.
I don’t want to lose my morals, values and system of beliefs.
A whirlwind of obstacles surrounding me, closing in on all sides…it’s hard to breathe.

But even after multiple blows I’m still holding onto this thread of hope…and pulling.
Unravelling what’s beneath.
And when I raise my firm hands to the sky I pray,
That my wandering soul finds a place to call home one day.

I want to
swallow your organism,
taste your bacteria,
swim in your virus,
catch your disease
& become viral.

I am consumed
by your fever.

Stimulate me
with ****-symptoms,
split me
in you petri dish,
mutilate me,
break my cells
into smaller molecules,
help me to succumb.

Take me over the top,
bring me to
ferocious-******,
one without a cure,
leave me
forever wishing
for no antidote.

Accepted clarity
Muddied only
By half-truths
Perceived as real
                       A contrived conscience
                       With volume control
                       Lowered by convenience
                       And narcissistic survival
The retail outlet
Of self-patted shoulders
Selling in real time
One's own significance
                       Safety in numbers
                       A comfort of thought
                       The inclusive community
                       Of light
                       Through fractured prisms
Individuality
Sought in the scope
Of a petri dish
Hopefully,
There be an artisan
Peering through the lens
An expert in restoration

Drips and drops of lab-tested fluids
pouring lipids in curves all over the place
while pops and pangs of tiny cells
bubble and fizzle in petri disks and flasks
regurgitating out strands of fine DNA
mix and synthesis of unusual entities
bubbling cauldrons of chemical ritual
give rise to spells of mystic creation
boldly configuring new organic oddities
from lab nonsense to ancient theory
mitochondrial splits and caverns
entries into the unknown of man's babble
for the fine and final production of science's silk
that which is life
and undeniable to our being
so creation can forever stand tall and strong
in the triumphant art of recreation

struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second

this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo  
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater

his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares

her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and  
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two  
was lying with others to stand himself  

when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K

to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons  
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat    
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five

My skin feels like scales
A piano bench
Metronome passing the time
Impatiently
Perfectly
Living like death
Spreading along Petri dishes
And moving forward in octaves
Like a starving gecko
Eating its own tail

The body dies :
A crumpling
not an implosion
as I turn inward
on my own corpse
In a desperate gasp
for sustenance and revival
The result ? :
A flourish!...
but, then, a puff
deflation
The Surround caves me
collects arrears upon my vehicle
I am to make no feast
the body is the process

Water that stands still becomes a poisonous petri dish of parasites
No one willingly drinks it
No one, not even dogs can survive on it

You told me people were changing
Tried to make me promise not to change
I didn’t think anything of it
I’ve always been a creature of habit
But I didn’t realize every still frame you took of us was turning us too still -
Stagnent

Every Creek runs a stream
Every stream runs a river
And water is always traced back to the oceans
The oceans
They support millions if not billions of creatures
Millions of different sources creating a big beautiful constantly moving changing habitat
Every part working together
And while parts of the ocean get terribly still
There is always a storm
Wave crashing destroying beautiful things
Only to be rebuilt in an even more fantastic way

Now don’t get me wrong stagnant water supports life
Like disease carrying bugs
And the bacteria that can give you malaria
Stagnation can take over whole creeks, streams, even ponds
Destroying whole ecosystems
Letting things rot

You said that I have started to change
Tried to make me think I was doing the wrong thing
When I put myself and my family first
When I kept running
You kept yelling
“WE HAVE TO STAND STILL”
Your toxicity can no longer touch me
I’ve found the ocean
An amazing ecosystem working together supporting life
Moving together and separately
Supporting growth

While your stagnant puddles are evaporating from the sunlight,    
The bugs keep crawling on you

But your disease can no longer touch me
Parasites can no longer reach me
I’m running and flowing
moving and growing through this ocean
And you stay still
In your still frame stagnant puddle

BLAST   —   direct focus on a terrorist virus
that swims in breath and touch,
in globules of spittle and ssnot see,
waiting to plant roadside RNA bombs
in nostrils—from flesh to newsflash fantasies

with

a Fear-O-Meter Lockdown grip
of Crisis Management Economics:
Gaslit Fiat economy crash test dummies
tested within psychosocioschizological
experiments of the psychobacteriological

transfer of power, control, and wealth—

stats data for thinktanks and simulations:
which strategies are best to get the peasants  
to willingly offer up their lives for an illusion
of safety and protection, what causes people
to remain compliant or to become renegades.

Capitalism, the revolutionary meant to usurp
Queens and Kings, corrupted into a negative
Technocratic Corporatocracy: a Royal Trash
death cult that feeds on its young, sacrifices
its youth to scams, wars, and stolen futures:

a Technocrat Herr Doktor drug pusher
that plies the skin of trial control groups
for the venom of Warpspeed fangs—wraps
its coil around a bundle of willow switches
supple with youth, its victims kept alive

as a fuel source to burn in the corporate engine, and kept weak enough to require another fix "For the betterment of the whole."

(Gaslighting fills mandated shower-coops:
"Trust us, you're sick, and it's your fault.")

Pollute people into isolation against an enemy that has never been truthfully isolated and purified—
an Orwellian leap of faith that breaks:
a crusher of foundational laws,
a crusher of critical thought and bones.

"Destroy (transform) your dreams, milestones, and livelihoods for your safety and protection. We are doing this for you. We care about you. These numbers, these awful numbers are your fault! You're to blame! It's all your fault!"

"Make sure to vote for me come next election."

As much as North America is a globalist,
the New World is also its own experiment.
Fortress North America: the Eugenicist Manager founded upon colonialism and slavery that outsources its crisis economics—
highly contagious, bit with its own snake oil,
an experiment observed to show symptoms
of AIDS, North America attacking itself
in many ways, symptoms of having been
grazed and groomed for decades

in contagion-based sociopolitical templates
that result in acquired bipolar autoimmune
disease: past enemies and geists attained
boosted immunity to defend, adapt—learned
to deflect Sun Tzu's Art of War into itself

with its own momentum. "Unrestricted
Psychological Warfare": a process of confusion and doubt that leads to the demoralization and dehumanization of the target enemy via the subversive tactics of propaganda plowing, cultural memetic warfare, the infection of economy, politics, military, scientific and educational institutions and systems—
cybertech and media espionage and warfare,
all of it leading to symptoms of extreme

polarization and social moral tribalism—
a decades-long psychological, physical
and spiritual draining of the enemy
into a weakened, toxic state, barely worthwhile to conquer fully. The enemy does the rest,

finishes itself off with:

Acquired (Red Auto)ImmunoDefiency Syndrome

Red CONtroll COVID-19 debt slavery—
pandemic crisis, CoVfefe crisis, energy crisis,
population crisis, climate crisis, racism crisis,
market crisis, war crisis, terrorism crisis,
ISIS is is cry sis in crisis and crisis
in crisis debt slavery to the State: Toadies

for the "New Normal" Big Pharma-Big Tech
mechanical heart engine that thrums
with a beat that Zooms in on, Zooms out from
false-positive test results amplified

and distorted into AIDS:

Amplified Information Distortion Syndrome

and

an Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome
in conjunction with a near-infinite number
of variables and determining factors—
an Auto-ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome of
body, mind, soul, and political systems
cruising along an acquired, contagious loop
of a negative-sense RNA socialist Autobahn—

highly contagious, highly experimental in
unprecedented moments of crisis and mirrors: reflections of reflections of reflections
amplified and bent
in sleight-of-hand misdirection and deflection with the virus holding a mirror's face outwards

while

an mRNA 'treatment' infects human cells
to conquer and command them to become
bomb making factories that create
SARS-CoV-2 S-proteins—yes, yes, "inactively" teach T-cells with double-think McCure-all bandAIDS to 'help' identify SARS-CoV-2 RNA. Understood. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction

(for the Terrorist within)

"Here's a fast-tracked vaccine that supposedly boosts the immune system that you're being commanded to weaken."

GMO sleeper cells and non-celled sequences
that can attain causality and symbiosis with
drug and antibiotic resistant organisms,
are sold as the cure that ills

and

misdiagnosed and misunderstood symptoms
of anything and everything
in-between that we've known and seen
are blamed on a laboratory Chimera:

the scapegoat terrorist virus designed
to be highly contagious and gentle to its host
for vaccine programs: Mary's Monster attaining the flame of life within
its Promethean host.

Who made who?

Who knew that the FDA NIH CDC
WHO-Fang North American China Flu Clan

flew the fear and media spread. "Wait for our
next update." Live TV, live virus

with billions of shortsighted treatments
adding ripples to an overflowing soup bowl
of trillions x trillions of RNA particulates,

inactive/active — off/on — negative/positive

Switch:

Spin PCR in the Petri dish:
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish!
What a lot of fish there are!

This one has a little yellow star.....

("Mission Accomplished")

20
seems like the end of the line
to me.
Car crashes, bad habits, white rabbits
will reduce me down to just a spec of debris
chillin' in a petri
                               magnified
                           by                   a giant
                        eye        st           aring
                             wi                 th
                                   disdain.
"Helicopter pilot? Yeah right"
hit me like the last thing through a bug's mind
when it splats.
                           Its own ***.
Switched my postion from
                                                s
              ­                                  t
                             ­                   r
                                                a
              ­                                  i
                             ­                   g
                                            ­    h
                                                t
A student

                                 p
to drop out flying u
Eyes down. Laying          to keep on track
                                  low
blinded, cataract, stepped out in traffic
                       splat
like that bug again
or maybe more like promotion
Brand New Adventure
                                                I've seen the way the world
                                                turns
     ­                                                      I don't want any p a r t

It seems to have spontaneously combusted, but it didn’t. The disease struck long ago, brewed in the petri dish of Depression, WWII, and convergent technologies. Well before that, really, but that was the point of critical mass. By the 1950's, it was an epidemic. The independent Republic of individuals, small towns, coherent communities, distinct cities, local diners, shops and stores tied together with two lane blacktop was crumbling. Things only got worse faster. It was a disease of toxic, lulling dreams. American Dreams. And standardization was its crushing foot that flattened everything and left a homogenized wasteland in its trail. The old gods vanished and the new became despots. Go anywhere in America, Boston or Biloxi. You can’t tell where you are. Most shop at the same stores (real or virtual), eat at the same chain restaurants, wear the same clothes, gulp from the same Internet, swallow similar information, and think (within acceptable variations) the same thoughts. Even sin has become tediously consubstantial. Knowledge has been supplanted by content. Words are squeezed of meaning. Everyone is an expert and no one knows anything. Except Siri and Alexa. The Dreamtime of consumerism, consumption and conformity dominates. All that remains to come is the dominion of AI. Then we will all be watched over by machines of loving grace, free to graze in bovine bliss in the cybernetic meadows of bland utopia.

long after these thousand days of
passing years, the eyes will feel a
sparking, I will remember you,
my dear old friends, reviewing
the where, the when, which will
flush, outing the whys
from my
memories

more than the poetic liturgy composed,
but what felled me to my knees,
yearning,
for the soup of love and passion,
pain+no gain, euphorias rising at the
trenching lows of depths
newly explored, hope returning after a
long time abandonment, the
excruciating ecstasy
of creating, the killing tedium of
months of no inspiration but the
glint of a possible tomorrow

but you knot all this,
so come to tell you,
long after the poem
encased in yellowing
emerald unwrapping
aging megabytes, more
than any old poem itself,
I wil remember what you
wrote in return, with insight
all we are, we are an interaction
a petrified yet living petri dish of
creatures re/anew,
r e n e w e d, and I am
young again

and the tears of yore no more,
fresh flowering droplets of
a longer than believable age,
factuals of the sweet,
you will move once
more, remaking me
your lover devotee

       and I wil stumble;
       the woman enquirer
       am I ok, whimsy
       respond never,
       never ever better
       my darling

and I lift a tissue
to erase the evidence
of my happy melancholic
existence, and start another
conversation with you, but no!

one of us long gone, name
erased, poems left behind,
orphaned children, them
and me left alone while
I will be remembered,
by remembering you,
our second of union

as it
reverberates, our amour
reunion is a wetting,
giving forth a burst,
a fluid sac,
again

Mother Edge
You walk with me
To Petri dishes
And light my silver lungs
With a screaming match
Drink the earth with
Me until dawn.

Father Red
I’ve run to your thunderous
Carpet in these shoes that
Can’t breathe through
The narcissi on which
You asked me to balance:
The electric taste.

Sister Shard
Sit like we did on the
Ship’s stomach
Memory has a hole in his lip
And my key broke
Smoke accidental
While you were gone.

Brother Trail
I grew in your shadow
Simple sentence cell
And dreamed, oh, dreamed
Of my black fingers green fingers
Sharpening
Coins for your eyes.

i feel much safer with animals
than people, i tend
to close off
when i'm scared
of crowds
or
another human being
and
what's going to happen
in an encounter
that is real
and somewhere along the deathbeds
i forgot any other way to be
i guess it is the unreal i'm afraid of

life seems long, it's not
real or nothing
that's all i can survive
silence i can do
but true
silence
not the silence
barb-wired
with lies

denial cannot keep death away
and in the meantime
suffocates life
god has gotten this
longtime prodigal-thief,
petri dish
of strange
and deadly
parasites,
ready to be
alive

ready to be part of a revolution
of values, a conversation
of justice, a
consciousness
of peace
and
love

despair
and fear-of-failing
have broken my legs and back and neck
for long enough,
i do everything
knowing
i will fail

and that's okay
because you know
this really is not about me,
not at all

i'm ready to be happily lost
in the jungle of life
because i am
happily found