US IS ALL


In the time it takes to write
a sentence to anyone,
nothing will streak through nothing
harming anything hardly exploding everything

And just so many miles or some miles,
mean so much the same.
And still so, nothing we'll travel in a day

So the way of a pen, it's so small
pointing even smaller
And its welded-inked, solid lines
where holes still are in everywhere_
holes holding us together

I feel I know
that's probably why
I feel the way
I do
about you.

Everything's so much bigger now,
and was always that way too!
But now we know that.

 THE CONSEQUENCES


If Newton says we can't even loose or gain
energy,
then when we die, of course we come back.
(Somewhere).
And yes,
our body decomposes in the soil,
and makes plants sprout deliciously.
But the energy
the soul, persists:
Finding another suitable Candidate.
Not surely always on Earth,
our earth anyway.

Oh, what is that you say of the solid, fertile, soils?
They're all around us: The spinning super-rocks
with their technical atmospheres.

As a lunged creature myself, I could not live there
But I know something must take my place
I'd like to see him.
I think
he would have snout like appendages
over all his body,
to maximize oxygen intake
and also surface area to keep him easily warmed by the closer suns,
and buoyant.

Further down the line - timeline of space -
that exists only because
we couldn't:
speak of it, write of it, live next to it or within it
before making some sense
of the thing.
Some sense of it. Sense of space. Space-time. Parsec, the Vanishing Point.
The notion that we can wrap even a scale around it!
A scale our brain will process
keeping us
calm, fanatic and oblivious.

Being always dosed with the consistent dehumanizing
Universe Scale
we fit into,
like a fairly worn, seasoned and dependable wooden cog
of a well made gear set,
that's keeping turning something like a watermill.
Too many things take place for its function to be necessary
for anything of its process to be mundane.

 Finding an Anthill in the Desert while Starving


Looking down on the little things
you see their thin-quick legs,
segmented and juicy bodies.

Grab them by the head, squeeze shut the jaw
and flip it around.
Now sucking the minerals and acids
from their bulbous backsides.
Bitter stinging and then on to sweet mouth,
you will remember your fleeting ant feast.

And if you could, with a probing tongue
dig and scoop, make sticky and pull
the titillating creatures from their labyrinth home.
Pushing
throbbing
searching tongue muscle
whipping along the clay-packed open veins of
the towering conical complex of sand.

Center, center! (find the center…)
Where the eggs and babies are supple and rich!
Sit, and digest their nutrients
liquid protein bodies.

Defense ants! Constructor ants, make way!
Like an ancient Egypt,
they install new, tiny crystals of beach-worn rock.

Soon now, a queen sends forth her protection party, seeking out
(like a hunter having achieved the chase, sapping his prey)
your eyes, the nose and underbelly.
Attacking now your tender skin,
the physically untoughened reserves of your body,
where the little soldiers know to sink their pincers.