Onrush

You came to being
In a burst of white noise
But it’ll be forty years
Before you have the words
To remember how
Form solidified from formless
In a cascade of nervous impulses
Learning to integrate in an instant
And in the next there were things
And a before
The world formed
Around you
Instantly and whole
With past and sudden future

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Because Fuck It

I spit something out
Wonder what it is
And get back to writing
It could be my crumbling teeth,
Or ants, another bee,
Spiders perhaps.
Dirt, could be dirt,
or grounds or leaves.
My mouth feels brown and murky
No telling what’s coming next
What will slither or ooze out
Slip or spit out
But it’ll be dark
And pungent
And hidden.

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Cotton mouth?

I wouldn’t be so worried about the snake if we didn’t have chickens, and rabbits, and mice, and birds. For the right snake it’s a feeding bonanza. The right snake is probably venomous.

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Baby Blue

How do you feel about introspective measures?
The way you should, of course.
They’re bunk, bogus, unreliable

I could tell you that I’m doing great

That I have a strong and disciplined mind, thankfully, or else I might go mad

That I strung myself in a corner by growing too fond of a muddled idea

That it’s almost like ripping latex from flesh

That, meanwhile, I wrote seven poems

That I’ve waited for rain and need a scarecrow

That I’ve been trying to figure out whose DVDs are who’s, and I delight in the hand labeled ones

That I’m digging “Reflections and Echoes”, the double DVD rockumentary on Pink Floyd. I’m hoping there’s some Floyd here somewhere. Maybe there was a CD, maybe I already loaded it.

- - -UPDATE: the Pink Floyd, the Dark Side of the Moon CD, is actually another, and in my mind, inferior, DVD rockumentary. But that could just be disappointment talking- - -

That I’m wondering what the AM Gold CD is.
It’s molded like a 45, and I wonder if it could be played on a turntable.

It starts with a soft-rock riff,
so I imagine it’s a soft-rock compilation

- - -UPDATE: it’s a sampling of various pop genres of olden songs you can imagine listening to in a 70s convertible, baby blue- - -

- - -UPDATE: you probably have a fro, and a bedazzled jumpsuit, purple with wide lapels, pink with navy trim. Covered in glitter that you probably call fairy dust.

A platform boot stomps on an accelerator, a glove yanks a handbrake, a convertible skids onto the main two-lane blacktop.

Baby Blue bites down on a cinnamon toothpick, releases the brake and rockets into the sunset- - -

- - -UPDATE: there is also Muzak up in here- – -no, wait, it’s brilliant- - -[pouting face]- - -[flushed face]- - -it’s an unobtrusive melody, with innocuous instrumentation, and the only words are a harmonic chorus weaving in from time to time: “you left me just when I needed you most”- - -[sort of unhappy face]- - -[vaguely unhappy face]- - -[crying face]- - -

That yesterday it dawned on me introspection is bunk, bogus, and unreliable.

But how would I know?

[oddly evil and smiling face]

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Attuned 2

A phrase,
slow and deliberate,
common, perhaps cliche,
is brilliant
—how could it not be?
whittled down, averaged out,
streamlined, continued
escaped, perhaps, from
a garden, or wood—
a mishmash unguided and unguarded
a chaotic crisscrossing
of cross-species competition.
Cluttered and busy and jangling. And like a house, or eyes, is a map, a broad overview of a mental state.

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Attuned 1

Beauty is average height,
average weight,
and average hair,
—how could it not be?
with graceful eyes controlled
by millions of muscles,
being fed autonomic impulses
from a million neurons.
Fuck hips, the eyes are the species’ signage.
Before there were words,
we cast meaning with our eyes
when there was danger or need love or fright
This set, this love,
alarm, or empathy
manifests in eyes
before words
your eyes meet,
and you’re human again

Momentarily forgetting
the apple you’re holding,
the juvenile learning nearby,
the ally hiding in the canopy

Eyes are lowrez and fast.
A broad overview of another’s immediate emotional and cognitive states.

Their eyes tell you
your baseline responses
are comparable:
This is an ally
intelligent, cooperative,
and free for sharing.

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Argh!

Holy fuck Holy shit fuckin
He gasps and leaps away
The buzzing rattling thing
Was a snake, a large snake
Grey and fat and long
It sped away though
wishing me no harm
So that’s a good sign
The buzzing thing might’ve been a delicious insect it caught
Hopefully not venomous, hopefully not venomous.
But I don’t know of any venomous grey snakes, do I? Moccasins? But no nearby water, is there? Wrong color for rattlers, right?
I could do your mother’s ignore it routine, but the last time she did, she got stung by a wasp.
Hoe, where’s the hoe

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Damn you Heisenberg

When you go out
for your cigarette’s
worth of daydream
and ponder
whether to take
a notebook,
or if it’s okay to
leave it behind,
Rejoice in the notion
of an indifferent universe
suffused with agony
unfair from end to end
there is no safe answer. Someone or something
Will always get hurt,
And it’s usually me,
You’ll be damned
if you gather it up,
the pressure of having
a notepad at the ready
disrupts that universe
and often keeps coherent
dreams from forming
You’ll be damned
if you leave it behind,
a million full-fledged worlds
with history, and stories,
and people will dance
around the tree-line,
inviting you on adventures
but only if you get over
the guilt of being
unable to capture
the ephemeral.
Lady Luck, paint my trees
and give me the courage
to accept the situational
restrictions of realtime.

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Ugh!

The anxiety sometimes is too much to take
So you bolt into the corona
Of a nearby star
And rejoice in the burn
For the burn forestalls the pain

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Have a flower day

Melissa was thinking about flowers
No particular reason,
Today was just a flower day is all
Everybody beautiful
Everybody happy
Everybody and everything flowers
Lattes are lilies
And cappuccino roses
And the espresso machine
is a flowering garden
Where steam snakes
Sprout vines and bloom
Flowers in cups
For happy flower people
His voice is rich compost
And honey mesquite
Golden flowers pop
From his speech balloon
A humming bird darts and bobs
Lands on a branch
and jets off into the woods
A rich cacophony
green with laughter
and mad with flowers
His face the sun
his words the eager earth
his lips the rain
He gets something special
He gets holding of hands and snuggles
He gets puffy pink flowers
and bumble bees.

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Little make-believes in the shape of poems.