lunchrhyme - 9.20


Every day to go out
and join the nameless mass
,the collective Everyman,
His gray and drooping face
to swallow whole
who dare dissent.
It is a dreamless sleep.
But to be born new
each night at five
is the hope
who've slept since 9 all know.

Oh, to live as Spring,
triumphant in the face of
and Death.
To suddenly become quite tall.

Q:What's in your head?
(She asked politely)
A: The breasts of that girl
the lips of another-
but what's behind those things?
I know Big Brother will know.
No? Well

. I think, too,
that Chopin and I
would surely have been fast friends.

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Butterfly Earrings

There was the time at the art museum. Georgia O'Keefe, I think, was on special exhibit. I was with the other blonde girl, but she was wearing a khaki skirt. I did not particularly appreciate flowers at the time, and we talked too loudly as we meandered through whitewashed mazes. She was wearing a blue tank-top and the butterfly earrings I'd gotten her the summer before.

"I don't know anything about art." She paused. "Nothing."

"Me, neither." I paused. "Well, I know a little, I suppose."



"How 'bout this: we don't know anything about any of this, so let's just talk about what we like."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at this painting." She walked in close to a large painting of a red flower. "I like the deeper red here in this corner. Here."

And just like that, our ignorance moved the afternoon into evening. At dinner, I remembered watching those turquois butterfly earrings, butterflying around the exhibits as she walked. She talked, and and I talked, but we did not hold hands. I never told her why I bought her those earrings, but our dessert was delicious.

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descend into winter

descend into winter.
release the spring.
release the summer and fall.
may the cooling of your days and minds
be swift and sharp and tall.




to "Things I've Jotted Down" (selectively)

"cows always moo" - Further, people always do.

"man the cow parasite" - Who subsists on whom? Men eat cows, the cows eat grass, both die and return to dust. The earth remains.

"powerful man holding a baby." - Who is holding whom? My child in my arms, I am held still by Love.

"Just what do you think man's deepest urge is?" - Connections are the basic driving force of most human action. I connect one thing to another, adding to my stock of perspectives, thus engaging in the act of creation - by means of perception and intellect, working in tandem - which is, as has been noted by Neihbur, the true essence of life. So, whether one likes it or not, his deepest urge is to connect, be it perceptively, or one perceiver to another.

"There's one thing about power. It can flow only from the top down. WHere there are little surges of resistance at the middle leves, it merely calls for more power to be directed downward, to burn it out." Top down, indeed. But who is looking up, to know?

"subject, adj. Con. adj., Vb." - Elliene, lonely and dejected, vomited, (continued - see next entry)

"adj., adj., n." yellowish, aqueous swill.

"tunnels of truth." Certainly they exist, but how precious few have been taught, or have learned themselves, to discern them from the wind-tunnels of coersion that are the Mass Media.

"into the darkened oubliette." - , she fell, but the drop was short. She thought, as she tried to stand, that she must have sprained her ankle. She felt silly and weak, having injured herself. "No... they hurt me! she whispered slowly to herself. She did not know why she whispered, only that she was afraid and that whispering seemed the right thing. A voice from the corner of the room interrupted her thoughts: "That's right, Ellie." And more slowly, "Don't ever forget who has hurt whom."

"simulcrum [sic] of myself." One example, loosely, might be every other self with whom I come in contact. They say the things we criticize in others are the things we dislike about ourselves. Then, every other self (read: everyone I have the opportunity to connect with) becomes a vague reflection of my own self. I see some parts better than others, the focus is always changing, shifting.

"Mitgefuhl--compassion, with feeling." Ohne Gefühl ist es nichts - without feeling, it is nothing.

"Es muss sein--it must be so." Und doch, kann es unterschiedlich sein - and yet, it can be different. Anything that is, may not need be so.

"Es konnte auch anders sein--it could just as well be otherwise." Ees scheint, daß Widerspruch überall offensichtlich ist - it seems contradiction is everywhere apparent. Who would be first...

"beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will sense them." My Motorola woke me slowly this morning / but still in time to see & feel / my wife's arm / resting on my chest, / her head nestled against my shoulder / and I thought: / when I feel foolish and young / my wife's devotion makes me feel / not older / but more real



Pieces of Monday

(it is important to note that this poem is not as original as it may seem. it is more of a heavily influenced experiment, which may or may not be finished)

Pieces of Monday

The hills send back the cry:
Ohio State 24 Texas 7
I wanna go back
I gotta go back.

I avoid Tylenol if I can
because maybe I can know
what it is to write while high,
or drunk.

Am I a White, or Strunk?

Cough and phlegm once, twice.

Just write
twenty-four more words.

(Sleep cannot be made up
but if I do not even try
at least I know where it has gone.)

Sunday and Monday.
Where is Tuesday?
When is Friday? Saturday, wait.

I am a guest here,
carefully choosing words
to offend, or not offend.
I know just how much
my will can bend
before I take my leave.

Cough more and twenty-four .
Write phlegm. Chillax and back

in black, or out of white?
Audrey Hepburn, please,
in the afternoon.