Suffer the Sufferings That Come Unto You

I hate shearing sheep.
It is my weakness meter.
It is 100% accurate data.
(Have I said how much I hate shearing sheep?)
This year X10.
You may well ask, "Why?"
Go ahead.
My answer: [MORE IN IMAGE]

a summer's tinnitus,
a vee of geese
a cicada's brood
a drill of beaks
A cloud of sound
breaks out
all night
all day
all round.
if you are not
accustomed to the undertow
of din
you will wonder how
you ever considered
this place
a still idyll.
You just might drown
in the shiny
summer's cloudburst.

Shine enough light
on the path
in front of you
to keep walking forward
into the next day's
shiny summer rain.

Sometimes...
my heart
is sanguine
& char,
"X" marking the start
of new tattoo,
a doodle,
new ink
coming home
to roost.

An Argument for the Future of Text & Image

Text is the gravity
of the norm.

Image and sound are
the centrifugal interlopers.

Text is
the default
the path of least resistance,
the minimum viable signal.

This desire line
favors text and paper,

but image and sound
are in the palm of your hands.

They hit,
a beacon,
afire from the future
emoticons signaling

always cycling back
like the optics in a lighthouse

lit and burning with the hiss of "what-if".

It Hits

Some say,  
"Anger don't hit." 
I say,
"Anger do so hit."  
Righteous anger,
be in us all.
Anger hits
but not like  
it might first seem.

Poem: tellio
Image: Adapted from Diane Arbus

Goodbye
is a liminal space
as we walk
looking over our shoulders
and then forward,
not looking back,
to all the fresh meadows.

On the Occasion of my Yearly Physical

They took my blood,
I don’t know where.
They stole my electrons,
I don’t know how many.
They broke into my self
and filled their vials
with information incarnadine.
A sacramental offering
to render me whole?
How so if they discriminate
and make me less?
I ask you.
Well...

Every rock
is magic in its uncertainty
and much better than a lottery ticket.
We lift instead of scratch off and in that act
we say hello
to all the uncertainty
that lurks beneath.
Gently
like a holy trap door.

@dogtrax

Yes,
if you ever
have grandchildren
one of the terms
of the compact
is
the "turn over rocks"
clause.
Thou shalt turn over as many rocks
as you can and even
roofing tin with great care.
Do not default
on this
or else.

to @dogtrax

Snow or rain,
it doesn't matter
which side of the dividing ridge
you live on--
it's all water,
rolling down
like data
turning into knowing.

Freedom
is
a
falling
feather,
falling
without thought,
out of earshot
gone
in
one
moment.

A Vision of Books in the Dark

Sitting in the dark
with so many books
I touch their faces,
their spines,
their forwards,
their indices...gently.
Some of them
I will likely never honor completely,
yet they touch me back,
haptic and holy,
saying...well...
they all say something different
to me,
a soothing torrent of voices,
variations on a theme,
a soothing torrent
that is the same silver tease,
"Hush, it will soon be over."
And I say back to them,
"It will."

Today I am digging
elderberry roots
to plant elsewhere,
I know not where.
And thinking I am done,
that I have dug the last one
but knowing as certain as
comfrey
or Johnsongrass
or ground ivy
or castor bean plants,
that is not the last of them,
mos def
not the end.

Roll, Metaphor Dice.

Burning
thunderstorm,
my heart.
A burning
thunderstorm
in my heart.
There's a burning
thunderstorm
in my heart.
You're a burning
thunderstorm
in my heart.
You're a beating
thunderstorm,
in my heart.
Burning,
thunderstorming,
lightning-ozoned
heart.

“A people that elect corrupt politicians, imposters, thieves and traitors are not victims… but accomplices."

youtu.be/eFkmRp_G2uo

Surprise comes
in many sizes
but often tastes best
when it realizes
that bitter,
even astringent
is what it needs most
to drive out
another flavor's cost
on the tongue.

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