Spidereggs

Toast pin tar top hot roof scramble
spider legs fly with spider goop muscle
fight a tiny nature forming bands
miniscule the trouble trouble good
fighting tiny suburban warfare too
too small by separated sun lobbed
lengths so pico physics you know it
it unwinds when literal billions of eggs
became billions of years old every year.

Simple apple, scoured bug of millenium
conch shell shouting oceans infinity
when the treble of galaxies of beasts
swirled entropy back into order so *
. * became the tonic strength sounded LIFE
until shore drew reason from brains or veins
we withered those trees that inversed us
as we grew old we grew lines to catch cry
and cried a scrying cold into the deathly dry air.

Intelligent is conundrum when Design
is withheld from what Humanists called eyes
who cracked a code for God's sake to muse
not as a manifold to stay silent when
all that was lost was is sight in hope
but just a critical mass of one too many
shut the doors off to keep God in and
couldn't but help to keep people out.

I let it all in with the doubt to be
there with me as ancestry you've not
known as I've looked the beasts and
plants and math and geomatic and seen
no doors no wars no poor no scores
whose very nature my allies that lie
behind me where I see Humanistically
truth which eludes collectively as it did all those years before.

But I was always too late

The circus rolled through town, and I thought they were awry,
and I tried to shut them down, for I had better rings in mind,
the Hawker hawked me, the clowns just clowned,
the Bearded Lady bopped me, and the Strong Man held me down,
all the freaks were laughing, and I wanted to laugh too,
the crowd just stood there paralyzed, thinking it a zoo,
though blood was shed, though prayers were said,
the panic still ensued; while water coolers boiled over,
the dolphins escaped real neat, they flimmed their flam,
they thanked their m'am, and swam or flew so fleet,
a child stayed in the aftermath, and saw what deeds were done,
they rubbed their eyes for all the ash, and then they cleared the lawn,
a King swam down upon the sky, to poll the silly kid,
"what say you boy, how murderous, the things that they all did?"
"why no sir, please" begged the boy, with dust still in his eyes,
"I'm sure they deserved just what they got, though I know not where and why,
"But I'm confident I loved them all, though we had no chance to say goodbye,
"The only tragedy I think I thought I found, kept me here where I belong,
"Down against the ground, here where cover is found, so do not apologize."
The King changed then, into a crown, of constant shape and mass,
and gave the child himself to wear to imagine and live in the world again,
so come all things which come to pass a world unto itself aghast,
how rebounded all our doubts what future brings, what past is past,
apologies seem needed hence but weepingly prevented again,
by the little voice that will not rest until it's given what we've gained.

Dr. King, I'm Made of Similar Stuff

Walk in salt step and see me take every challenge vigorously on
Tiny bells in my Jester crowned head stumble greatly in drunken master
My play ingratiates and imitates mastery happening all around me
Your pomp prism hails Delilah, Ken and Barbie, whose houses are variable
My house is bricked intent turned calamity with robust zaniness
Try Trivial to answer less but before in primacy to wait for age patiently
Resource takes mind warps of leniency to satisfy the frog brain croak high
At midnight to zenith chirped chorus between us, all landscape no heat
How dreams crinkle the sheets to remind us all how hell heats
All salt and ash in clay where fire earth air and mother meet our DNA

Talkocrat Monocrop

What two things should we fear the most
what two hopes give us our best
how many shouts is a carousel of chorus
how fast does it spin when feet leave ground

how do we fast when our feast is sumo-sized
how do our dollars turn wishes grade paper
fear our weakness and broadness succumbs us
see our vision of production and tradition

I plugged in the truck this morning but still
the cold turns coals in eyes water wheels
I learned to make vinegar for sour is power
I washed out products, grew roots in farm pastures.

Monocrop is dead.
we'll forge plantation.
sweat is wasted.
drink to cooperation.

Damn That

Damn that habit
that means one day
at a time to cure,
to live free again.
One day, one hour,
one second inside,
one minute, one moment -
how horribly deficient,
it seems,
yet is not,
to lack that
which catches
at the throat
but won't
come out in that
moment we need it
most.

It makes us sad,
to hear the silence,
of the cry,
from our inner light
screaming adeptly cold
for desperate help.
How empty
our silence is
to be alone with that
knowledge that burdens
the steps
that inevitably follow
a solitude.

We can only grow
to change
with light
like plants
like trees
in a forest.

We can only grow
to change
our approach
to the
plain
elusive
truth
we've already approached
ad homonym times
before.

None of us knows
what approach
truth takes next,
so don't presume
to pretend
to know.

You don't.

But, that's beautiful too.

So thanks.

Keep it up.

Real Conservation, A Week Later

all you have to do is stand up and speak
if you fake it you can grasp for foul language
you can slake out your propaganda stale mix
or buy an ounce of my altruistic stylist tricks

you thought a success wouldn't be messy
but then you found your brain being sold
to the sun-eater, the moon-beater, so sad
you sold out before the bid war had been had

so soft my danger wafts into your strange ears
you pump Listerine in place of Tetra-hydro-chlorine
so empty places grow unseen
then one memory gleans a piece of cancer genes

at last at least at most we've seen a chump
who comes hard against himself and the world
is it simple to turn a child's temple to something
so simple it scrapes the bottom of the credit dump?

To: Barack Obama; RE: the Civilian Corps

The teens crave attention sir, a program we'll give them,
their parents won't be let down, so we'll have to include them,
our armies are mighty though their cause rarely bright,
we'll call all our neighbors to help us,
though we think that they think that they're right.

We'll call it the Civilian Corps, and what a core it will be,
marching through trouble, solutions on the double,
since hand and hand sees us intrinsically free.

The Corps isn't for volunteering, or for the stand-and-cheering,
the Corps is the business of fixing our business,
by keeping the promise of a community's togetherness.

So that; things begin where they ought to, not just where they can;
things stay afloat when trouble's at hand;
folks can obey because it's their choice;
voters can hear the sound of their voice;
homeless can sleep safe, so their families can too;
professors can teach a way that is bright;
so preachers can preach what is to all of us right;
so parties of interest in politics form,
to demonstrate new where old ways are worn;
so that everyone knows there's some place to go;
and everything works towards what's best for newborns.

I'd call and request immediate press, but I'm just as scared as all of us left.
I know you've a calling to make history right. Please take my idea and relieve us this plight.