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I am feeling the shock of fast change. How to cope with it is of course the question. Listen to Beethoven through the neighbor's window? Look up from the page? Appreciate doves even though they are so numerous? I seem to have limitless choices although this cannot be true. Could I have become a computer specialist? Sure! How to remain still in the ever-maddening mandala. To remain still on the outer edge of the wheel is to ride laughingly and pluck at the gold key. I force myself down into the craw of the black vortex New York until I feel the strong oscillations gather rhythm and expel me or accept me.
What do I find within the black electric walls of this unique vortex? I find there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope. That my efforts are unnecessary and hopeless. I cancel my subscriptions and stop eating. I embrace wild roots and run through streets with arm around my girl.
* * *
What is important.
I part my lips in the middle
eat corn chips, dipsy doodles
make love, eat grapes.
In their mere chronology
events have no relation. How was making love
different from eating grapes. Differentiation
is essential to bring order from chaos. The chaos
is the accelerated change created by our own species
whose consummations have a quantum effect
on the environment.
But the chaos
existed long before, and long after us
in both more serene and violent forms.
Again a duality, but here's why.
each duality may then be said to be in a dual
relationship with another duality, forming
These cubes are difficult to join
with other cubes, unless first they are
We were traveling among
these cubes, maneuvering
through a static array of equidistant points
but finding it impossible to avoid striking them.
So why the difficulty adapting. Because no species
before us had to adapt to its own effects upon
environment? No, every species must
but our adaptations (of the world) are so successful
(such fabrications!) One green, one brown
Two dead leaves
Then a breeze!
* * *
Loveliness and loneliness
they sleep apart/together
sometimes not always
using sheets of white nothing madly
connecting, splicing, parturition
continuing to birth life and ideals
like ants or any other species.
Tree, each poem, begins
and ends and giving up
to life's forms
surrendering to greater force, power, strength
whatever it is called, the clog of heels
upstairs to the door, turning of
the key, the taking out of the
garbage down below, car
starting, placed in
anyway, for myself, personally, speaking only
for myself, because although the Parks
Department rakes the leaves as it
did last autumn, to keep them
from clogging the sewer system,
I am in a heightened
state of vibration
like a long steel pipe banged hard against an
iron beam. The hard hat feels it in
his hand (on the gears) but
great buildings are built that
nature destroys in time
with a little wind
air, you glide down through the limpid air
toward the ninety-seven story abandoned structure
remnant of an earlier civilization
abandoned but not yet entirely
swept away in slow waves
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
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