everywhen (a biography evenwhen)

land dishevels itself
in birthing cows and
dying cows,
terrible you know, —
cows can’t escape themselves

everywhen i love You
everywhen i hate You

but not the earthen air
be it an act of sacrilege;
and everyact of greed
desecrates meYou
and i donot ask You,

but You give it all
exchanging gifts, —
Kansas for shekels
and such, and such

everywhen i love You
everywhen i hate You

evenwhen the cows flutter
their eyelashes,
evenwhen the world is gone
to them, —
gone for me too

::

apocalyptic stuff for RT

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Dear World,

I’ve fallen into a sudden
need for sleep, -deep,

as you are shallow, – though
your usual business burgeons!

I dreamed up stuff you’re made of, –
crushed velvet &petticoats.  Am I right?

I think there should be a call
for sturdier diving boards. Helmets &knee pads,

along with a better photographic angle
-just to get out of bed.

[a missive for Real Toads]

Can You Hear Me, Bard?

It’s a brave new world, Bard,
One is which everyone’s afraid
of having face-to-face conversation,
It’s a faint-hearted world, Bard
& we’ve hawked our oyster for rose
gold iPhones. Cold as fish, we are. Dead
as a doornail, we are. At some point
we vanished into the very thin air
we ourselves beset with transmission,
reception and signal strength,
which, by the way Bard, is always
rampantly poor. And we wonder if
anyone can hear us now? So we tilt
our fancy– but far from free phones
towards the heavens, once reserved
for the gods, but now full of fury,
cell towers and radio waves. We’re
desperate, Bard, to conduct wireless
communication. Ah, we are so close!
Yet, so far from coming full circle.
The world’s a classic case of too much
of a good thing, Bard, for goodness’ sake.

day 23 NaPoWriMo
for Real Toads

When I Open My Mind

when i open my mind
i spit up little bits
of gray questions &promptly
wash them away &think
the whales will ingest them

when somebody puffs smoke
from their fashion-oh lips
i see it
as another omen in the air
to interpret or de-mystify

and from my notorious
neglect, no doubt,
the angels begin sighing,
or signing? that’s pretty
much benign

while i entertain
myself with galaxy things
in my imaginary time
i do the big-bang, oh-so
ordinary things in school

like dying, &pretending
the world’s an impossible pearl
that there are no black holes
in so-said brilliant minds

i know my imagination’s
dismal &finite when I think
about light years, religion
& some mathematical myths

when I open my mind
i spit up little bits

for Real Toads

God Rest You

if there is only one world, it is this one. 
days like this are to myself:
dirt & houses; air & occupants.
the neighbors call them rednecks.
their loud engines, their empty
liquor bottles, their tow-headed babies
& little blonde women loading up
in monster trucks for church.
what am I doing?
watching the world go by, falling
& turning into the pointless beauty
of calendars. 

kids walk around selling chocolate bars,
i throw a ball back over the fence.
two loose mutts greet me at the drive,
& i think, well isn’t that nice?
& that it’s only right
a shock of rainbow breaks the sky
without ever the slightest chance of rain.

[Italicized words from Larry Levis’ poem Decrescendo]
for Real Toads