rhubarb

morning sun shines through streaks of drops on slanted window.

rhubarb from aphex twin plays and I wonder:

instead of talk of digital twins

how about spiritual twins;

(that do not mimic but complete)

how about: God is trying to call but we never pick up

or never know what we’re picking up;

maybe pain can be beautiful if we know where it should lead

maybe the helplessness we see around us, the decay into old age of loved ones

will not be the last word, and there is something beyond the cross

of meaningless suffering.

live from tone to tone

wash tone sea saw
wash crisp blend slow
bounce raw sheet draw
wave foam: release? slow

Compromat

Swiftly does the flesh retire
To chambers new and soft;

Boldly die the lives of others,

Baldly dye the lies of others,

On tomes of good and bad;

So radio hosts of talking hate

Can rot the brains of

People called for more.

Sad the sin of waste:

Wasted knowledge,

Wasted resources,

Wasted opportunities,

Wasted nature, and

Wasted apologies.

Wasted wisdom,

And, worse than pride:
Lazy, comfortable hate.

This is what our nation,
This is what I
Was capable of. 

Kingdom

Most powerful is He who

Consoles the grief stricken

With truth and healing;

Not ones who cause the suffering,

Here today, and gone tomorrow;

It is for heroes everyday

To get up each morning,

Pick up broken remains,

And stubbornly live in it: salvation.

Dwelling

(The whole world is an hermitage, and we the lonesome dwellers.)

It's never good to be an erm-it
And find your thoughts get more and more unhinged.
When anything is possible, nothing true is possible

The dots all join to form a perfect storm
And imagination wild is the limit
Of what apparations are found.

Or, with clear rules to be always straight
And start again when you have failed
You've built your own prison cell.

But what if hermit wants to meet?
But no one wants to meet him, not on his deluded terms?
What then?

Max Sustain

At an intergalactic feast table in Valhalla.

Conversation between two organ grinders.

ORGAN GRINDER 1:

When all is gone, in a sigh, and

Science tells you all the while

The how ^ n but not the why --

What will you reply?

ORGAN GRINDER 2:

I am safe, I exist, in

Fleeting-mind protagonist

Of Story worth some proper Verse

Of Son gifted a Universe.

ORGAN GRINDER 1:

Do not get your hopes up, son

You'll be puff 'fore day is done

Never breath of fire so fine

But your life, son, is on the line.

ORGAN GRINDER 2:

Like tightrope walker I see depth

Of darkness calling to my death

But in that darkness I'll see light

If it consumes me, it's His right.

Eve

I feel the road ahead is tough

And fear of fear is not enough,

The vultures are all looking down

My shaking corpse their feeding ground.

Words blow through like hollow reed

Nothing sticks and nothing feels,

Rivers, meaning, dry like bone

Core fed, cortex left alone.

Here in wastelands, in the dark

Night of the soul wanders aghast,

If ever will there be a smile

Clutch loosened even for a while...

From awful sights torments expressed

On solid days of nothingness:

Oh, that hood raw power indulge taste

Were lifted! kind forgiving grace.