Thursday, August 20, 2009

framewerks

Swinging deck rises to greet my feet,
hair grazes the ground.
To and fro,
Silent, except for that very insistent owl,
calling over and over again,
but you'll have to admit,
even It knows resolution to its music.
The great cosmic bear's wispy paw grabs hungrily at the points of light
but they escape laughing, needling the bear's dim-wittedness
slipping through its paw to shine on unhindered,
those two eyes on the edge of my vision
staring, monitoring, making sure I don't make any sudden moves.
And still I swing, and the world swings with me,
and that owl, yes that owl,
is the deck rising up to meet me as aforementioned,
if a Newton's force law pair exists, is there such a thing as cause and effect,
well, of course, that's stupid, your volition guarantees that there is a direction to the flow of action,
ok maybe, but could it not be that your grey powers of telekinesis are forcing the balcony to ram up against you,
that the hammock is as Foucault's pendulum (yes I'm reading that book)
two nodes of immobility at either end?
So going back to volition:
if you trace a series of actions: telling your feet to push up against the floor moves you,telling your feet muscles to contract moves them, etc. all the way back to a Newton pair in your brain, do we still hold these truths to be self-evident? What is The Last Third Law Pair?
Hoot on Mighty Owl,
the barn doors are opening!
And to those stars on the dark screen,
I love the universe, a love measured by the extent to which a longing fills me,
unbearably, lends direction to the rambling through the mazes of thought,
an absolute point
a focal sheet stretched in three dimensions,
as far as the heart can reach,
tongues of thought
the divine octagon of stars,
the frame against which all measures of success are to be made.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

For I...

Am the great untamed lizard of the spiny forest.
Cracking shells in the Gobi,
frying on whet stones,
grinding my teeth ,
spitting at Ft. Worth.
Lapis lazuli, lazily my turquopise eye,
My turkish friend, let's dance in standard chartered moon lanes,
planes over the grassy plains,
I have driven saner men to women, and insane women into the arms of dragons.
Great flagons on bournmouth rum,
sitting over the dusty cavern mouth,
lip-synching the stories that were entrusted by their long-dead keepers,
Pirates of the Jurassic.
Hyped up, pipe down.
No mo guff////;;;