footsteps

step
step	step
step

this came partly from one or two of Chico’s work, especially this one, and partly from my infinite capacity to irritate

icebergs

I hear only iceberg chatter drifting away
where icebergs kill or melt
before they dare say what they really felt
blind man’s buff among incomplete hates
who refuse to understand
everything is self maximizing
even life and death
we’re making more icebergs every day
imax renditions of approximations
reality flowing alongside reality
reality touching reality as agreed
science on its proudest day
scaling new pinnacles of uselessness
too afraid to say no
fear is the brave new world
the paralyzing terror of being real
approximated in anonymity
apportioned in hate
the mesh it slowly tightens
melds into the wall
we don’t know what we’re missing
we don’t miss it at all

Last week, a close friend of mine received a call from some guy who knew not only her name, address, email ID and phone number, but also what she was wearing last Friday. He had the gall to tell her he was on her Facebook friends list. She had no idea who he was, she has 300+ friends. Now I am paranoid about these things but she is a trusting soul. In fact she is the kind of person the world needs more, accepting, trusting, open and friendly. It is infuriating that these folks are becoming the softest targets in the Net, quite a question mark on how useful or valuable the Net really is to humankind. Why are we all so afraid of being real, why are we all being made to be so afraid of being real?

totalitarian whiplash

 

the straight lines drew you
they were drawn to draw you
but finish the thought
those clouds look lovelier
than old cement runways
they call the road ahead
why did you leave it unsaid
what left inside and wouldn’t come out
where is that morbid postern
you crave the guilt on minutes on wings
that sneaks out on work
ethic turns to gloat
as you soared and swooped
swallowed then subsided ashamed
where did they go
stand them and show me their creed
what they achieved
where they flew
how many flutters to unseat you
how many guilt burns before
the circular saw is through
you are no example
you have none
you are nothing at all
but element and spirit
a color that cannot be made again

 

held

half open eyes
inside an overworked soul
tea sunday morning late
with cinnamon and clove
figs steam and raisins
one long lazy stretch
an insidious fragrance
and then I was whole

dust to dust

 

he was inclined to outlaw dust
ab initio sans merci
warrrrior tattoed shouts from rooftops
and again he prowled searching
for unrest to turn to
shapes, his came from guns and jaws
from sweat nights of nameless fears
conquered by the warrrrior
whom dust drew closer than the trees
who rose from dust for dust
the color of a soil of a chaos
that came apart in the streets
as dust crept up their veins
crawled out their grateful skin
to warrrrrior cries they became kin
dust flung itself around
in great violent storms
a dash of red relief
and the shapes were left to sing
reality is dust to dust
new dust gathered with old
piled in corners unused
ignored waiting
to become he again
to be of use
to feel