i am not
science
or
maths
or english.
not
of medicine
or engineering
or managenent

neither academic
nor vocational

i do not
belong
to white
or blue
or yellow
not
even
black

not
brains
not
brawns

i do not speak
of any jargon
not
professional
not
unpronessional

my place
is placeless.
my trace
is traceless.

colorless
formless.

only
a
breath breathing
human being

inhaling
the same air
of socrates
or lao tzu
or alcibiades

exhaling
the air
for more
thinkers
and
tinkerers

i am my past
and my future is i
no matter
who i was
or who i choose to be.

i will be

We’re F. Scott ingénues.
Curious cases.
Brilliant but fading
fast--enamored
by the evergreen glow
of fate.

We flout convention
to tout our lofty “truths”
star-written and palm-read.

For passing thrills,
we study the sun.
Sleepy scientists searching
not for an answer,
but the blinding light
that precipitates Eureka.

Illusions of healing:
ice packs, heating pads,
band-aids that proclaim
our status as bad mother *******
carry more weight than any
ultimate solution.

We’re dilettantes.
Tinkerers.
Hobby-Lobbyists.
Will we ever burst
the bubble-wrapped life
to seek the exact?
Where is our Great Perhaps?
Have we found it yet?
Or are we just
a passing fad?
A cunning plan?

how tempting and near irresistible
tuff hind me gaze drawn to the digital clock
chronograph constantly staring me back
from any electronic gizmo permanent at dock
side of the moon, where try as I might

to wrench letting thine myopic eyes alight and flock
affixed to time piece glaring at this mwm adamant
to become reminded of the passage ad hoc
of hours and minutes, essentially a contrived
modus operandi integrated forsaking those nada ****
within western civilization countless

hundreds years ago prescient insightful outliers, did lock
up present, whence practitioners of infant science,
handy dandy blues clues tinkerers ironed out nock
with an arrow poised to strike bullseye as precision
  
got perfected vis a vis dis cover for prefects pock
who devised a system to partition planetary revolution
of earth around the tilted axis; affected, devised, perfected
refined,contrivances to allocate equitable quotidian blocks
as dawn to dusk requisitioned some paradigm
to systematize how to know where to rendezvous

for risqué monkey business or maintain favorable rapport
with an employee/ though prior to the precision crafted timekeepers,
an innate sense inherent within the madding crowds
whose knead to acquire the basic commodities
slowly manifested into a more definitive precision
crafted gizmos as the natural circadian
sleep and wake cycles rhythm co opted

into forced system necessitating imposition on body electric
when advent of industrialization mandated
a work force to be jostled awake by town hall clangorous chimes
revving generic speedy Gonzalez to high tail their derriere
at manufacturer lest bread winner replaced by another eager desperado
to escape becoming DIRT POOR,

but pocket just enough legal tender to survive
a hardscrabble existence incessant inquiry
per the most asked question (*** hide from how big iz your ****)
turns upon the matter where space/time continuum
hums along with a silent tick tock
as if stone deaf, yet impossible to avoid the imprimatur
where air tight schedules disallow any wiggle room

inducing this *** spire ring Telly Tubby – Tinky-Winky wannabe)
accidentally bumping into Boobas, and while at a standstill
drops the urgent question "What time is it?",
without pausing to reflect what thee is and/or it iz comprende?

Modification.
Humans
modified.
Jumbled,
rearranged.
Mind
tinkerer­s.
Pushing
buttons.
Flipping
switches.
Experimenting
on a
global scale.
Designing
uniformity.
Group
think.
Correct
thinking
approv­ed
by a
few.
Misinformation.
Disinformation.
Determined
by who?
Unapproved
narratives
need not
apply.
Individuality
under
assault.
Puppet
masters.
Pulling
s­trings.
Corrupting.
Stealthy
invasion.
Circling
each soul.
Unaware.
Eyes
glowing
in a
tech
zombie
stare.
Emotions
corrupted.
Pitted
against.
Towards
­a sinister
goal.
Ultimate
control!