Do people not see the separation of culture?
The quiet segregation of our artists,
Where we all hurt for their hidden toils.
By the media corporations that pay
Real artists pennies on the dollar.
Who bully those to ghost write
For people they believe will sell better.

Your feed is targeted, more selected
Than you can even imagine.
The profile built on most of you is
Down to a T, it should scare you and
I do not fear monger.
I have heard screams from one with no mouth;
I have seen myself programmed
To live out a life to completion
At the direction of others

When the prisoners

are outside, they walk circles --


inside in their heads.

In the commotion,

police officers salute --


in all directions.

Textbooks in a heap,

the pages held together --


by dog-ears only.

I pick up plants from the street and slow down
Caring with soil, scissors and cotton wool
I slow down and cook, for him, and with him
everything else slows down. I don't do much

At first wilfully, daily exercises
and meditation, my body asked for it
Attention

Esther covered my skin, he caresses
it, he catches my navel lint
Childish games, silly jokes
Giggling like a lama

Cuddling, energy
from the sun behind my clouds
Peace of on and off buttons

The slower ******* and spitting
of the ganglia in my head
No more overdrive
All neural pathways know it

Everything is a continuation
of days gone by
which we can dream
as a hold in our lives

Boulders and push moraines
eternal snow, powerful rivers
migrating birds and giants of the forest
the earth born from stars

.....It is so much larger
.....than the tiny dream worlds
.....that divert our attention
.....as a hoped hold in our lives

.....But the stories of arts
.....science and politics
.....that divide us into differences
.....are too small to unite us

Order in the bowl:

little fish at the bottom --


big ones at the top.

Visitors are briefed

of how they should say thank you --


for the reception.

Living in contrasting hues their duality clashes,
Oppositions transcend logic and bare pains of confusion,
Words take form and pierce the fabric of union,
Timeless ventures into the abyss,
A departure premature.

there is no order
the golden ratio is
just coincidence