OnLYme

I have made one single decision,
which is the decision to make decisions.
Societal-neural incisions and implants cannot do more than supplant ideas into the recipient.
Cognito. Ergo sum? Ergo a societal mirror reflects each and every one of us. Or is this just what we assume when we declare God is making fun of us?
If we are all the bathroom rugs in the cosmic pisser,
where does the slime we slither between us come from?
Furthermore, do you love this rug just for where I have been, or for my slimy intellectual influences contained within?
Why is that that in the bed of a structuralist I dreamed of you telling me 'there IS original thought' all the while seeing it through the pen I just bought?
You wrote of how you knew what it was like to be dead,
among inklings of angels on the back of a gum wrapper in a Harriet prison-of-the-head
Which is to speak of knowing the difference between life and not-
The world creating for the world forgot.

Knowledge

Like a ton of pavement
Washed up and liquid
Spiraling
Toward its inevitable conclusion
Unearthed grass and cigarette butts
Ripple beneath the street.

The train tracks
Used to go North and South
To other destinations
That meant something else
But their buried too
And spread out

Closer and closer
Now
They barrel to the center
Of the city
Away from Lake Michigan
To the middle of the prairie

The knowledge underneath
Years of erosion
And modernity
(the decomposing animals,
bones blood stained,
thornberry paved streets and...)

Yeah,
We got it now.
A global community
That reaches away
From the Great Lakes
To Everything

Where it comes back
Again though the oceans
Can’t be colonized
And the larger bodies
Of water can’t be
Renamed

This society flies
Over on zero
And one
Wing…

We’re all Living
Together on this
Old prairie

And we,
We can see
Everything

There's a pigeon in the prayer house

There's a pigeon in the prayer house
and we're not wearing shoes.
I'm biting my tongue
on a floor of blue carpet,
under a dome painted blue.
The doors to the decks are open
and the sky is turning grey.
It's no wonder then:
a pigeon in the prayer house.

Sacrosanct

Blind priests see Christ more in floorboards and baseboard-heaters
than anyone who can enjoy particles in front of them
I confess, flesh tones and bank loans will suffice
though 78's and 45's wait as if at gunpoint attention for the order
alphapersonalogic is the one I feel right now
it dwells in the subsonic-chronicaudiophiliaphonic ranges;
an ethnic relic
because 'Hebrew' means 'to wander'

Evening Night and Morning

When I think about a world
full of cities like New York and Chicago,
like London and Paris,
Beijing and Tokyo,
I get scared to death.
If, rather than a few hundred miles apart,
these dense human heaps
piled up just over every horizon.

I hear the stomping and shouting,
the college dormitory halls and balconies.
I wonder and listen. Who needs music
when you've got a front row seat
to the Stumblebutt Orchestra,
really the best and brightest.

I heard the chirping start this morning
right outside my window
with the squeal and croak of
a solitary early bird.
I tried to call when I heard
the birds start to chirp this morning.