Depression is rich and succulent.
Like BBQ sauce hand prints in the kitchen.
I rest up in case I get energy someday.
And that might be zombie energy.
It still crunches the bones in my hand when I try to have bones again.
Every chair is a big yoga ball bouncing away.
So I unravel my makeshift mind and chase things like that.
Useful.
Everything is just shapes.
Like my rectangular bed that is like a spot to set me away for a while.
While someone else goes to the store and buys the last pizza crust.
Maybe I’m Depression after all.
And she left me here with the dust bunnies.
She rested up to get energy.
And I let her take it to the store like the person she is.
I have a brand of English muffin that I really like.
How is it English, is this the language he speaks?
This type of muffin comes circular,
But I beg to differ, rectangular would be better.
The circle fights with my toaster.
At time’s it’s become a dangerous battle.
I have to intervene and unplug the machine
Making her unfairly cool down.
I understand both sides.
But if you ask me, I agree with her more.
If the muffin would just comply,
And be rectangular.
Things would be easier on both sides!
(Said the spider to the fly).
But the truth be told, unfortunately today,
This is exactly the attitude.
Everybody shut up
And do it my way!
Maybe, in the future,
I should buy my muffins
From Canada
And maybe my bacon too.
But will they speak French?
Then the miscommunication possibilities wide open.
Cold morning light of misty haze.
Ground section, three dimensional rectangular gaze.
Sharp thorns on rose dead red misty tears.
Cracked leather from fisted gloves of black weaponised might.
Shine glistened leathered shoes dulled in this dead light.
Long coat warmth hanging off soulless cold.
Dark glasses cloaked glass eyes shone in glee.
Box lowered slowly.
Oh, but so, so exquisitely.
Standing witness for the joyful final act of the murdered end of thee.
That cafe
Between yellow and black
Purple and green
On one side of a narrow path
A round table
Rectangular chairs
Dancing atop uneven stones
Shaking the night
People begin to gather.
The pavement is wet from rain,
but shines in light from the full moon,
the woman walks confident in her own beauty
carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers~
a man is passing by but she does not notice,
she is intent on her mission~
where is she going forever centered
in her rectangular universe?
A feeling of doorways.
Crumbling while we’re trying to relax and watch tv.
Numbers while chewing.
On my mind are edible as a fire.
I’m available for that appointment.
If it’s the clear kind.
That makes my joints itch.
And spiders make it worse.
A feeling of doorways.
Like a path but rectangular.
Seems normal yet is uneven.
Like cherries which are soft and have small creases.
Creases like sand.
On the path to the door…
We lift off.
And embrace.
It’s weird like a chair standing up.
He lifts off the ground.
Lassos us in.
A feeling of doorways.
A feeling of doorways.
Is inevitable.
Let me tell you what I know
about Piet Mondrian and Mark Rothko,
two painters so rectangular and square,
you'd swear there is no life there,
till you look with a little more precision,
a little bit more care.
MONDRIAN
rectangular
revelations
MONET
waterlily
wonders
MANET
mirrored
refelections
TWINKU a double word distich with integral title
Paul Klee made a painting of poetry
unique & in rectangular geo-me-try
Charles Demuth with a reverse ekphrasis
made WCW figure 5 his innovative art thesis
Yours truly 'kindled' the emagi
a reverse ekphrasis digitally
She ping
She pong
Digging both sides
With concentration
With hand slamming
Calculated precision
Eyes rolling pinning
The striking win
Over this green
Rectangular board.
Chip Woman
She was everyone’s craving – a rectangular piece of deep-fried potato:
a salt and vinegar one,
one that made them glow.
She was the too friendly –
and the too trusting – type.
Raised well she’d been.
She lived up to her hype.
One afternoon she delivered
a book to an old woman, who
had lots of ants as pets,
who kept saying Hello and Thank You.
She said she wouldn’t stay long
but the ants had planned differently along.
While the old woman was in the bathroom
the ants cornered Chip Woman and ate her up quick.
When the old woman returned smelling of perfume
they swore to her, and she believed them, that
Chip Woman had to split to buy a bathing costume.
I wear a favorite ring now all the time.
On my wedding ring finger, but it is not a wedding ring.
It features a gorgeous blue pear-shaped topaz stone.
Highlighted by a band of eight rectangular shaped opals.
The opals are opalescent, shining pink and blue in the light.
Today I looked up the properties of both gems I wear.
Topaz is the symbol of hope and happiness.
Opals promote youthfulness.
Now I understand why I am drawn to this ring.
She completes me, bringing me joy and youth daily.
My all-time favorite piece of jewelry.
With myrtle and listenability
I undertake the words of the prophets
Memories relapse in an unhealthy fashion
Man the forgetful
this rectangular mouth
compromises loftily
The Moons harsh splendour
boasts its specious context
as marigold and beam
sway across my October windowsill
like salt peter cleansing the pelt
truth is unburdened
Rocking back and forth with a Magellan hat, Lennie prepares for sailing.
Incoherent babbling is heard from the explorer on all fours.
Items of existential curiosity, once seen from afar and distant, are now within reach.
Unbeknownst of this capable ability are those that keep watch, giggles to self.
Driven by wonder, soft thudding perks the ears of the canine companion.
The pain of fence posts cutting through tissue leaves a snail trail on the floor.
Finally making landfall, the little giant scales rectangular glass framed in wood.
Pauses, send deafening echoes to the villagers safe inside, stunned in silence.
Bored of this impenetrable defense, climb further to the cliff edge to peer over the brim.
A village made of logs, glittered snow that sparkles on hand, little people frozen in time.
With a reverse Midas touch, ends the curse of the village with the gift of flight.
Awoken, the God and keeper of the village imprison your curiosity in a netted cage.
12-28-22
An Existential Curiosity
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Tonight, I found my love
Staying beneath the shadow of my pen
With beautiful blue linings
Laying across her white rectangular face.
The evening stars glowing, at once
Her wood pulp character cuffed my wrist
"Conceive in me, your rumbling heart."
However my ink shivers in cold fears,
My love- I'm filling in your blanks tonight!
Joyous how my dry heart
When blessed with your pours
See my laminar smiles
Flowing through my dancing pen
After its loneliness of droughts.
I will conceive in you
The untold secret of my heart
After being ransomed with your presence
I never am bored
To paint the unwritten poems in you.
We met again to be a pair
After a long disperse, if not divorce
Albeit we are undivorced
We are equal parts lovely lovers.
Oh, Paper!
My lost love.
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