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Big Shoo

you ought to bow your head

your face is untied, & you

wouldn’t want to

trip on that flapping tongue

. . .
 

your soul worn so thin in places

loops would be easy

–scuffing the fine details

of the

whole shoe

–platform and all–

on your way down.

 

No Park in the Walk

the monkey bars

are rusted through

and slide is tiresome long

­–rings too far to reach

–swings too hard to teach

the merry-go-round a creaking circle of dizzy

though it is

around.

 

seated, then, on bench

still slick with morning dew

and cool from the night

I tie my shoes

in bows

–carefully

carefully–

behind pond

missing ducks

pooled shine in dawning sun. . .

between cat tails

and sedge–

I gaze.

 

 

Sky’s the Limit

Will closing in,
I removed shudders
–gloss already shattered,
I dismantled dour
~hinge by hinge~

 
breathing
deep
(Diaphragmatically)
I re∙tiled flair,
re∙tooled crown-
-melding stories
(I re∙taled)
every one of
them
without waif.

Vaccine Additives

Suppose it’s true. . .

Smoke some deGrasse

and let your mind

drift

(lol, your mind)

Say we are living in a simulation. . .

a game on an X box in a land

far, far

away
 
 
(not even a good game)

and by virtue

of a virus

(not even a good gaming system)

or a covertly operated, economy crashing, freedom encroaching, Special Interest expressing Special Concerns about Special Agendas phenomenon,

are living in our own virtual reality

–a simulation—

or house arrest; it’s just semantics,

while the Movers and Shakers use downtime to their advantage

 

Now posit Gates enjoys “Face Off” time  at night,

(and Gates to what exactly? Though I understand his Bills. . .)

And assume Zuckerberg’s reptilian quality and bad haircut are more than skin deep.

(Working off the theory he’s just a poorly created gif–where would all this end? The Droste Effect dictates never. . .)

 

Fast forward to the picture-in-picture scenario

(lol, fast forward)

which SIMs true (ish) enough

–the best anyone can hope for at this juncture

in this jargon–

and downright validates the phrase “He’s a real PIP”,

positioning Gladys and her boys as well before their time

this time

where PIPs are the seeds in Apples, BTW’s,

and apropos of everything. . .

 

so mathematically speaking

one-zero-one-zero-one-zero-one

(has a rhythm, if you sing it)

in this deGrasse conjecture

it makes sense

that the duckface thumbnails

we’ve grown to become

are playing orchestrated games

games orchestrated by Big Brother

ergo this mise en abyme is

overdue for a pandemic

–worst malware ever!

all its own

(worse than injectable Lysol)

(more than a new emoji)

shaking the foundation

of Facebook

–curly fries tattling on non-conforming spuds–

& breaking Windows

–event 202–

crashing Gates

–ID 2020–

& getting Jobs

breaking the lockstep of New World Orders,

and ridding our “selves” of

bad Apples

& oppressive systems

once?

and for

. . .

all?

 

Climate Change

 
Prat falling,

& rising again & again

–Rain pours everything into its patter
 
 
Weather acapella on dark stage,

or in concert w thunder & lightning

–front row, center—

Rain doesn’t hold back

. . .

from drizzle to

downpour,

Rain renews

–on the DL for future flowers

–in your face for fresh-washed car, and

d’raining though it is

Rain bows

when its through

sky-written reminder

of nascent bloom

 

Snow drifts, though

–clingy at first

when you brush snow off,
 

Snow gives you the cold shoulder

–back

& breath–

chilling all spoken

–Snow permeates

puffs out clouds that snuck inside—

Snow’s got game

.

 .

.

men,

fort,

& balls

–sometimes, balls–

(when it gives a sleet)

snow

–throws down

 

Sun’s more industrious

at day’s end

Sun sets-
 

-up for the morning.

(Croissant moon

w black cosmos)

Sun sweeps stray rays

under cloud rugs,

Sun paints them.

Lines them.

Fluffs them.

Sun fusses over clouds

so much

clouds disappear

–for some quiet time—

when they see Sun coming, &

conspiratorially,

Sun winks

–as it clocks out

 

the Minutes


 
We dwelled

in one story. . .

a concept coerced into agreement
 
 
 
 
–one

verse—

ongoing & incomplete,

this mash-up of styles,

is ruled & rigid

(constellations named, planets punctuating)

free & formless

(a stitch in time fabricated)

it’s a continuum

devoid of metaphor &

lacking nuance

–elliptical poem of all that’s imagined without imagery–

our universe

is cold

(and hot)

vast

(and suffocating)

–expanding outward in

relentlessly onward trajectory,

moving forward toward backward

–it’s every word in every sense–

a journey unlettered

or littered

by sensical signs

–equation

of far-fetched angle

(0. 1. 0. 1.)

–simple &

unsolvable–

the difference

a product

that to sum is a

force-fed “quota”

dispelling

–and spelling–

all unknown fear.

.

 


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