tree cradles moon

in boughs

–moon’s beams

bathe tree’s tips in glow

needles laced

with light

the stars

lent firmament to sew

a fabric timed

in stitches

shines

a winding purl which seams

are trimmed with tree

and filigree

of dreamy, astral beams

intense

events

offend,

and

–I—

transcend

defense

foregoing sty

repurpose

fence of would

–envision–

life united,

bridging schism

 
 
Uninspired,

and plumb out of unexamined minutiae,

I collected gravel

. . .

pointed pebbles embedding underfoot as I strolled,

and bits that bit fascia

when I wandered,

and fragments that flayed feet outgrown sea glass or slipper

on subsequent trudge,

paving my sole in portable road

–without quill–

in marbles gone missing, but

not crystal balls,

(too cloudy)

and absolutely zero

diamonds in the rough

–just lacerating chips–

of a game long since retired. . .

and so many!

‘til ultimately, my collection became

a road

–in and of myself—

freeing my journey

of blinding bramble

(at penultimate last)

a way to go I built

–that goes my way—

a way yet barefoot, uphill, and largely unmapped.

Lately though, I am noticing

still greater stones along scree highway,

and

Inspired.

I’m cobbling a path of substantial stone

–and shoes, to boot—

foregoing crushing

(stones to bits)

to lessen hobble

–inside and out–

keeping an eye out for

raptures circling overhead

–looking for loosened feather—

in the breeze.

a human being,

not a human doing

–I acted just the same.

I kept on my toes.

I jerked at the knee.

–directly connected to my mouth, wherein my foot resided–

I shot from the hip,

but failed to trust my gut all the same

–its plural gone missing long since, and

wary, then–

and weary, too,

I played it close to the breast.

shoulders morphing geometric, rounding and squaring repeatedly,

before

–at last–

I upped my chin

–mouth, too–

getting all cheeky

–with myself–

while keeping my nose firmly in my own business.

and after returning from stuffed head trip,

–complete with body dysmorphia–

I trashed my luggage

–stickers on Samsonite, and souvenirs, included–

dwelling thereafter

in mind’s eye.

*Note–inspired by a phrase of guru Wayne Dyer: “You are a human being, not a human doing”

I got it from IKEA

(fulfilled by Amazon)

a DIY bridge

— or roll away stairwell–

and wouldn’t you know it, most

of the instructions were missing

–just the diagram

build-it-by-numbers

page

(and packing slip)

came with

–plus Slip-n-Slide bonus gift–

but I gave it a go just the same.

The ole: community college try.

and yeah, the lack of return ship label factored in, too, I suppose,

Still. . .once I rolled my sleeve up

–on the one arm left—

Schroedinger’ed the cat,

and popped every bubble in the wrap,

I was in for the pound following penny, anyway

(lucky or not, there it was)

–plumb out of space in which to turn around or even breathe, and

grey real estate

“moving day” chaotic

. . .

I pretended I could breathe

–blustering & posturing & puffin’ & a’huffin’–

connected A to B

. . .

and C to God knows what all else,

and right away I couldn’t fit the Allen wrench

into the main frame,

the sudden

conversion of alphabetized system

to numeric code—confusing,

and

G, I don’t know how that figured,

and

H more finite than eternal, as I recall,

and

nothing at all binary,

whereas the subsequent lapse of code altogether

–replaced by Chinese, or Japanese, or

some Asian language made largely of emojis, and “Hello, Kitties”

rendered the ultimate construction beyond

“I have leftover screws” iffy.

Little wonder, then, I fashioned a fence

–instead of bridge—

burdened by that dang Slip-n-Slide that

couldn’t even double-down as a modern-day moat

–at that point—

and if I couldn’t stow it outside, where could I put the bone-breaker?

not one step at’all

(turned out)

but at least I found a use for the rail

. . .

partitioning grey real estate

into kaleidoscope cubbies

/___/___/___/

in any number of which

–or alphabetized code—

I lost myself

. . .

in a maze.

I launches me haunches

front paws, too, because—

my nose chose for sniffin

w tongue hung from jaws

my hurry all furry

my joy buoyed by chase

of winged thing, or stick flick

or mouse roused to race–

from furious curious

all fun run, I play

w beasts meets

by butts greets

at each beach all day…

we weren’t meant

for the Internet.

to “know” people

thousands of miles away,

to “reconnect” with people

from high school

(except at reunions)

to evaluate

–and be evaluated by—

the masses deemed

haters, fans, or followers

(what happened to the lovers?)

–f*ck even the language is mutated

bellwether terms abbreviated,

and so knelling

(you can’t unring that bell)

because we are all so inundated

(here kitty, kitty Grumpy cat)

besieged by media

point and click

like and share

& comment and emoji

(the ugliest hieroglyphic)

and

we all gtg

(right the f*ck now)

and we all know we have to gtg

(awakwhtgtg)

because it’s right there

–on fuh beebs

on Instagram

on Snapchat

on an app as yet nascent, and

is that awkward?

not for long

NFL & sure

lol

which doesn’t mean lots of love

but loads and loads of derisive braying out loud laughter

–a nervous response, in an inundated world

such shallow-ed terms

–which rhymes with hallowed , and is its opposite

damned you know

when all dams are breaking loose

–f*ck, why can’t I just order all of life online?

why isn’t there an app for that yet?

(the tech titans are falling behind)

I want to print my pizza.

I want to post my need.

I want to stare at this screen until the final screen falls

–when my system is no longer compatible with new software

–when my epitaph reads like a meme.