Adilson Smith Feb 22
I’ve long admired him,
This steely Atlas,
Denying the dark its nightly ambition.

He is like a footman, stiff
With some serious duty.
Trusted, and attentive.

Are we so different, he and I?
He eyes the conic territory
To the front

And to the back
Of his splendid center.
Gaze both ways.

I pursue my own illuminations;
The past and the future
Lie always in the light

Of my useless attention.
How I wish I could limit its reach.
I want a cross section

A liminal lamina
Pitched in the present
Exquisitely flat.

Not this glaring two-way torchlight 
This sapping compound
Of anxiety and regret.
Vicki 2d
generational quandaries on a micro level
speak of wondrously similar and savage
equivalencies at the macro level:  forces
combine, the vulnerable are marginalized;
in the smallest units of couples and families,
lies are told, secrets buried, children grow
old and the darkness carries onward
in cycles of destructive calamity

suicides often thread through the trees;
alcoholism breathes in ancient power-
the master of addiction rooted in the lack
of clean water; sudden lurches of diplomatic
squander have led to wars and threats
of apocalyptic antics; attics, basements
and the tunnels in the Valley of the Kings
are filled with the many ornate and empty
bottles and vessels that held the elixirs
of sweet disasters many times over;
documents transcribe the words, not say
how inebriated the entire room was

there breaks in opening up about the pain
aching in our blood;  i don't know my tree
at all ... ; don't take for granted the branch
you own; my micro life mirrors the macro:
those orphaned or alone fight battles with
the mystery in our souls; families aware
are in singular front to stall and stunt cycles
that destroy others; it is a common goal for
those of us with heart that we stop this
at once:  stiff denials for giving love.
this might need fleshed out more. or less. i'm not sure.
big thoughts on a small day.
A secret society founded as a dark, heavy rainstorm
loomed menacingly one night in November of 1888
over Boston University;      Sarah Ida Shaw,
Eleanor Dorcas Pond, Isabel Morgan Breed
&   Florence Isabelle Stewart sneaking in their
nightgowns into the dusty attic where Florence
swore she had seen three black cats sitting
in the rocking chairs talking; to humor their friend,
the others followed her up into the dark attic:
meaning only to frighten Florence,   Eleanor
pulled a kitchen knife; the uncomprehending
Isabel & Sarah forcing the terrified [so they thought]
Florence to her knees; while there, eating the pussy
of the knife-wielding Eleanor, who raising her stiff
nightgown told the others to do likewise until they all
were satisfied, shouting - meow meow meow meow -
old lady Murphy hollering up the attic steps: 'who's up there?'
the three girl giggling their little heads off running
past her down the stairs;   Florence nearly tripping,
coming down a few moments later,    also grinning
but silently to herself.    
'what are u girls doing up there?' -
'playing w/ the cats,' said Flo,    slipping past her;
'Cats! Cats!' shouted the old witch, rushing up the
stairs raising her broom [from that evening Delta Delta Delta (ΔΔΔ)
has met to lick talking black cats in secret college sorority rituals]
President Calvin Coolidge said
That "The Business of America is Business,"
And,
When we elected Donald Trump,
Many Americans of all ethnicities
Wanted to believe that This is true.
The United States Federal Government
Supposedly,
Is now superfluous,
Because everything that the Government does
Can be done better
By Corporations,
But,
Now,
We're paying a stiff FINANCIAL price
For electing a President
Who is so
Contemptuous of the Federal Government.
Instead of being more efficient,
We're wasting a lot of money,
As well wasting a lot of our emotional energy
On needlessly idiotic conflicts.
We might be better off
Having a STRONG Government,
That actually SERVES us
Instead of trying to "dismantle the Government"
And having more Waste than ever.

— The End —