Turn To The Land

  


Let us turn to the land.
You and me.
You.
From this pollution.
The purpose of humans.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.
Or abandon the pollen fallen
from willows.
At night the stars show
then in day still burning.
We refute such odd existence.
Being but not yearning.
So turn as a plow turns,
turn as the leaf turns,
turn as the tree turns.
Turn from the rock, bone,
threshed into soil.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.

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Kittens In Radiation

kittens-in-radiation

Gravity has the doors
most everyone ignores

except kittens
who lay on floors

they breathe in this stuff
in daydreams

Everyone wonders what they do
with those eyes

A million point five years
of seeing wave frequencies

the things
that go in those special
gravity special doors

and make worlds recycle
like Christian forgiveness

computers tossed into pure
radiation

Kittens move to kiss each other

and this is only part of why
they lay around on floors

Chicago Chrissy

She’s called “Chicago Chrissy”

She looks at my face in daylight

Over her phone

Wondering who I am

who I could be or become for her

You never looked at the lines on
my face
in daylight
over eggs

I was never born that way for you

The silence of sunlight is listening
unluxury
and evolutionary

It vibrates these screens for us
just so you know
impressions are long and ancient

The Information Hack

Would you be upset if I
information hacked you?

The progeny, the progeny, the progeny
are
living

Everyone wanted to be living

In multiplicative ways

Scattered now

It’s what the stars are saying

The clutch of your hair in my hand

Such scents of flowers and milk

Blue cast eyes from the window

to the city

the solar system

and so many galaxies beyond

would I take the genetics of your
presence

your crepulescent thoughts

or your fine statuesque build that would
antiquate the calcite statues of
Andromeda

Her Boobs Were By Computer

We were able to talk once

Looking on the street, it
is gone

Someone wanted hugs, did
someone want a hug

The landscape of the moment,
an orange mountain

Has turned to shadow
where the old ones with
leather and wood
kept talking as humans

Yet in the morning
with their children
they hold computers
amongst the silver bridges of
California

We have gone down to the
computer store,

but it is gone now too

What Wealth Was A Dinner On Sunday

It’s not until we know where we’re going
that we move through Space in a spaceship.

It’s not until the hour means nothing,
whether through our own destruction or
some other civilization’s grace and innovation.

It’s not until we, ourselves, travel at the
speed of light that we realize what wealth
was a dinner on Sunday and the smell of
Umbrian grapes in our chalice.

Bourgeoisie And Meaning

Can we play celebrities please,
today, when it rains?
Will there be gift baskets
that we get,
courted and made to feel special
for at least an hour, maybe more than an hour?
For them to give us something meaningful
so we can go home and reflect on,
open our mouths at a later point
and say what we did, where we did it,
how it was done and who it was done in front of.
Can we talk?
Were you talking to me?
I was talking to you in the foyer.
You weren’t talking to me.
Now is my time to tell you what is important,
it is about me.
You don’t have anything to say, do you?
You never do.
This isn’t why we rolled around on the carpet,
this can’t be it.
This isn’t how we play celebrity.

You need to have breasts.