palm readers digest

i hold a braid.
it's not so long and not tightly woven.
the craftsmanship, however, is flawless.
intentionally left loose.
this sort of technique gives
a casual flow
like two sensual worms embracing
bellies and necks.
yet, i don't know where they're heading,
or if it's even in the same direction.

of Time

This is What Time has Brought

We tackled the dishes as Family.
The water ran full force
and elbow-grease applied
to the counters, table, and,
when mess was seen,
chairs.
I prepared the movie.

No one eats at the table anymore.
There are three TV trays,
the fourth one lost under a printer
in the office.
Movies never run anymore.
News plays after 10 and
on a special night,
Saturday Night Live.

The house is visited more than it used to be,
but not by one big group. Not a group of 5.
Not a group of 5 members of my family.
Not at the same time.

Pre-Existing Condition

I have a pre-existing condition
and am therefore denied.
lol.
something about me adds color
to my face and
understanding.
i have this ailment which
desires comprehension,
comprehensibility,
honesty.
it's a sickness to need to
spread these colors from my face,
from my fingertips,
tie knots with strings just to tie knots with strings
because doing so allows for much more than
a string with a knot in it.
but this is too basic.
however, this is my pre-existing condition
and i've been denied.
lmao.

Poem - "Headlines"

Headlines

Two              Towers of Babel             Topple.

The battles            for Babylon               wage

and,                                              standing by,

                                             Sacrificial Lamb.

'Sigh' for that big bang,

           charged       by a storm      of   trouble.

There  is a  martyr  atop  some   hill,       who

   once was     a baby   floating   downstream.

                                   Blah, blah, blah, then,

"Let's           to        the   chess            match!"

                                                He later leads

a   million   people   to        the Guggenheim.

Hands                      get                     washed

in        mounds           of            fossils;

the   mantel   is   swept   by   Texas candles.

The corpse,  refurbished

                with    an  empty   milk   jug.

Attempts are made to reap the spoils of a 

                                                     hurricane.

They succeed.

                             Refugees sit in traffic

on the way                     to evacuation routes,

    three    days        after the storm.

  Chariots    throwing     bows   and   arrows,

drunk   soldiers     throwing        elbows.

                  Angry fans throw tomatoes

and poor  sports   play cheap.     Meanwhile,

ice cream is  savored on the curb

                                         outside the prison,

where Springtime's sparrows

                                                galavant.

The    day's    parades                 are watched

       at 9 o'clock.                 Ticker-tape fails -

cars dented

                                               "Keep an eye

on the mountains and valleys."

                                          "Get out of the red

and stay in the black."

          "We have already been on the bad side.

We don't want to go back."

Heads shaved before church - beards in choir

Behind screen doors, Secrets shared with Secrets

Money offered to 'thimble'

Pitas split, passed

Rugs lay down facing God - Prayers flung

Prophets fast together

Editorials

Lay down your rug,

face God.

Now kneel.

All the ancient profits

hold hands in the shadows.

Thrown dirt 

can get in your eyes,

and we all know about specks and splinters.

Smile like a Mormon. Dance like a Hindu.

Play like a Buddhist.                 

                                                    Love.

Heightened and Enlightened

Out There, In the Real World

Check the news like it’s a Muslim prayer schedule, only to find panic, hopes, frustration. Yet you’re no nearer the headlines tomorrow that read:
Truth Beyond Politics
“This is an historic day.”
Headlines roar through printers, quicker, for faster news, not better. Say:
Life Beyond What We Print
Yet seasons are forgotten unless it’s baseball, football, or political and Christmas is become elections that begin earlier each year,
    grow brighter each year,
    increase grander each year,
    and people cheer:
Red! White! Blue!
And the papers roll, black ink over pages, and all any of it reads:
These Are Untruths
Hands passing secrets under fine table tops hoist in their other hands cables, then, Hark! The herald papers roll:
Stocks Fall, Money Meaningless!
And buses disappear around vine-covered high-rises, sidewalks crack by seedlings, newspapers compost for tree roots, and words claim:
[Your Line Here]
but the article never draws a conclusion,
so everyone waits to see how their favorite cartoon considers the idea.

help me remember

The Southern US

The Dangers of a Pint (of Ice Cream)

The dangers of starting in on a pint of ice cream is a matter of temperature.
The pint is too small to actually scoop a portion into a bowl - that would be silly - so the individual is left eating from the container.
This in itself is not a problem, but as the he with the spoon peels back a layer of ice cream, he reveals for himself the chunks of chocolate, ribbons of peanut butter, and nuts.
Now, for one who carries with him a level of self-control, this is no problem. The individual will take what he preemptively deemed acceptable, and leave the rest.
However, as he slowly lips the spoon, changing the chunk of ice cream from crystalized stone into a damp, slightly warmer river stone of bliss, that which is left in the container begins to form for itself an outer rim of lightly melted cream.
The individual now finishes what was supposed to be his last bite, and says to himself, "I'll just scrape off that little melted part." After all, once melted, ice cream is never the same again.
In this unfortunate realization, he glides the spoon along the edge, scrapes just a small bite, but reveals to himself and God more delicious chunks of nuts or chocolate or a perfect ribbon of peanut butter. "I'll finish with one last taste of that," he tells himself.
Alas, that bit of peanut butter is, every time, too rich, and must be cooled down with another small bite of ice cream.
By this time, there is a new rim of melted ice cream, mocking him, on top of the, now, half-pint that remains.
Just, be careful with your pints of ice cream. That's all.

Heightened and Enlightened

“This is a huh-storic day.”

Check the news like it’s a Muslim prayer schedule only to find panic, fear, frustration, yet you’re no nearer the headlines tomorrow that read:

None of This Matters – Truth Beyond Governments

Events are recorded. The whole is ignored.

Headlines roar through rollers spinning pages quicker to create demand for faster news, not better, saying:

Life Beyond What We Print

Weathermen watch numbers. Meanwhile, winds bring cold air south, but the seeds she carries are said:

CHANGE.

Seasons are forgotten unless it’s baseball, football, or political and Christmas is become elections that begin earlier each year, grow brighter each year, increase grander each year and people cheer:

Red! White! Blue!

And the papers keep rolling black ink over tree pulp pages and people pick up the one that fits their views, like doctrine, and all any of it reads:

These Are Untruths

Hands pass secrets under fine table tops hoisting brandy and cigars and then, Hark! The herald papers roll:

Stocks Fall, Money Meaningless

And buses disappear around crumbling high-rises, sidewalks crack by mighty, rumbling seedlings, newspapers compost for tree roots. Finally, it is agreed.