I
like math even though I suck at it
My
arms promote the use of hands
As
a warm climate climbs into me
And
makes itself at home
I’m
haunted by electricity
I
don’t understand volts
Or
amps but I do understand
Plugs
and outlets
I
speak with the pungency of fire
Don’t
let me burn you
With
the soft murmur of fruit
I’m
only forming ideas
And
ideas of form
A
whisper of silver sewn into black
Like
an insect crawling to the end
Of
a branch and slamming the door
On
my face. There are cinnamon twists
In
the closet help yourself
No
one else will
After
the fog lifts it begins to snow
Quarks
gurgle the density of experience
Can
you hear it
It
sounds like popcorn
In
the fourth dimension
I
wear the headdress of my nation
Which
is an exaltation of larks
Coffee
enlarges my consciousness
So
that it no longer fits my head
I
have to write it down
The
luxury of pronouns allows this to happen
In
the same way that delicate brushwork
Will
tickle a jellyfish
How
can I explain this paradigm
While
I walk backward
With
my eyes on stalks
Singing
of ancient kings
If
only to arrive at some form of conclusion
A
sweeping generalization
So
convincing that it may be mistaken
For
a shirt. I withdraw into olives
And
write a book of diamonds
Do
not tease the tiger
Or
you will be eaten
By
remorse and these words
Are
hungry for your full attention
I
live in a country of endless war
Until
we arrive at the border of death
And
shavings of Parmesan cheese
Remind
us of the good things in life
And
the not so good things
Such
as weeding & doing the dishes
I
work in an olfactory
Membrane
making smells
Appropriate
to the human condition
I
bring a cactus close to my face
And
get to know it
Let
this moment
Wrap
around you like a stranger
Peaked
roofs & a timbered façade
A
singing nipple
And
a white gazebo
Be
careful I bruise easily
And
this is my backyard
Gardens
that flex their muscle
With
artificial eczema
It
is the turf of a northern climate
And
these are the jottings of an old man
Examining
his youth
Of
lust & corruption
Like
that of France
At
the beginning of the Revolution
That
are now just bits of truth
Contorted
like pretzels
In
the open light
Of a three-way bulb
Of a three-way bulb
1 comment:
Three Way Bulb. Interesting what 20 watts can do, in the human brain, in at least 3 dimensions. Saw the movie today about Alan Turing and the Imitation Game. Almost missed it, due to end of run in local theaters. Only about 6 of us in a 200 seat theater. Working on a book about my uncle who was in OSS Secret Intelligence during WW II. My brain is more like Turing's than like my uncle's. Like a fly's eye, or maybe a bumble bee, I see details and semi-mosaic patterns, but often miss the obvious that average folk see. I never pursued math, tho it held some interest for me. And crossword puzzles, even easy ones give me a headache. So I'm no Alan Turing. However I share some of his frustration, with seeing things nobody else does, while not easily seeing all they do. “Sometimes it is the people whom no one imagines anything of, who do the things that no one can imagine.”
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