God Particle

fall

The battle for souls rages on
in a bell jar
in Kansas City.
Refugees
from the dreams of Milton
writhe on through the ages.

How could an artist
so obsessed
remain unknown?
Did he love or hate
his fellow humans?

Unanswerable questions,
but if you look closely, you’ll see
that the God of love
and the God of smite
are crafted from the same tusk.

for-tune

yinyang
Because the hour’s late
and the smell of the air gobsmacked me
into the past
this is all I can leave here.

I am fortune’s child, and how that happened
is the mystery of my earthly millisecond.
I take her gifts
and give back a few of my own,
but really,
I don’t think it’s expected.

My bikes rarely get flats,
the shower’s done before the hot water runs out,
the alternator expired at a side-road
off the busy highway,
my mother and father were never mean,

And best of all,
I can carry a tune, for
what that’s worth.

light

IMG_5403

In the visible,
discerned by our face-camera,
blue can be grey
or green
if the frame changes color.
We are easily deceived by a pretty face
whereas
a blind dog can know its friend.

In the ultraviolet
we can discern
only by sunburn or science.
It
can kill us with tiny mutant cells
and also
show us distant stars in their massive youth.

The infrared
we discern with our skin
and go out for a picnic
on a warm summer’s day.

The x-ray
is totally like this.

xray-specs

shelter

A sense of place in a time of loss

Photo by Octodrone Maxilla

Shelter me

says the millipede to the leaf
as the air goes cold in springtime

Oh, shelter me

says the leaf to the twig
as the breeze lifts her fellows ‘long the climb

Oh, oh shelter me

says the twig to the branch
as the storm becomes less than benign

Shelter, oh shelter me

says the branch to the tree
as it clings to the strong wooden spine

Shelter me, oh, shelter me

says the tree to the forest
as lightning’s child razes her shrine

Shelter me shelter me

says the smoke to the air
as the last ash drifts dusty and fine.

Shelter me

says the speck to the millipede
as it settles to ground

and becomes part of time.

 

 

Blessings on Pharoah

As the Israelites departed Egypt, it is written,
Pharoah asked Moses for a blessing.

Godmade mutant nature had
creeped fell hopped
flew flowed erupted
festered gnawed bit
until Pharaoh said “Let me go. By my gods and your One God, let me go.”

We will never know
what transpired between them,
Moses with his pack and stony coins of bread,
sandals untied from his haste to begone;
Pharaoh with eyes red and cheeks sunk in sorrow.

They must have heard the deafening silence outside,
broken by a lonely bleat, a sob, a slamming door.

I like to think Moses raised an eyebrow
and took his leave,

Pharoah wondering if that’s the form
this new evil god’s blessings take,
or if he had already been blessed
tenfold.

john-martin-the-seventh-plague-of-egypt

 

 

My Ideal Afterlife

If I am good, perhaps I can fashion
my own afterlife.
No skin off Godparticle’s nose, I do all the work,
everyone is happy.

I would ken all spectra and wavelengths
zoom
through the scree of interplanetary dust,
navigate ping and thrum of the nebulae songs,
and pierce the darker stuff between
and betwixt.

I would visit objects numbered, named, or not,
surf the clusters and,
with shield at ready,
meet head-on the pulsars’ and quasars’
cosmic-ray-smithed swords.

Then, bright shining as a googol of suns,
I would set my course to the very center
and mindless enter the mind of God.
The End.