Short Devolved Poems

On the frozen lake the ass had gone asleep
While slumbering he did not know
his heat devolved the ice below
In despair the ass abound
underwater and quickly drowned....

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What is the square root of time,
what is a moment devolved from itself

What is the relative quotient of dreams,
tomorrow unspoken—lost inbetween

(Dreamsleep: December, 2020)...

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INNOVATIONS
many faceted
in
a
melange
of
decorative
spectacle
a vanguard
of
the bizarre
the absurd
in
complete
freedom

interventions
collaborations
coordinated
in
complete
aesthetic
freedom

reflecting
mirrors
devolved
&
surrounded
exploiting
  possinilities
in
ironic
 detachment...

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When singing a splendid solo
in a public place
becomes a political act,

When dancing a diva duet
in your Mama's political space
becomes a barely tolerable act
for economic and politically powerful co-developers,

Then opportunities for communion
have devolved into too uncivil communities
for cooperative eco-social resilience....

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Freedom fish have devolved into a bait ball.
In tighter and tighter circles, they swim.
Picked off one by one by invisible things.
Nothing left but scars and stripes -graying meat of death.
Gracing the hazy floor of myth and history

Eels of anarchy grinning from caves.
Red crabs traverse purple mounds.
Black fins thrashing the amber waves.
Gulls finish off what's "far left" of sane....

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Hunters become hunted
The hunted become lost
Hearts get clouded
In a permanent frost

Rules are rules
Rules to be adhered
Thoughts put to standby
Hearts to be cleared

Pleas on deaf ears
Integrity dissolved
All hands now stained
Intelligence devolved

A river of anger rages
Non against the flow
'Kill them, Gut them' 
Hypocrisy at its best
Justice a forgotten quest
Judgment passed on rumour
Evil breeds…
A black cancerous tumour...

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Trees turn their features inward.
Cool winds
wander in like stray cats.

A fiery death is in the air.
the party colors
are flame and ash.

Leafy campfires
burn the residue of mammoth bones
long since devolved
into the soot of charred mice.

Autumn is the charnel season,
its love is cruel, its farewells
a promise of relentless demise.

Dead poets scrimshaw its beauty
on last year’s death masks,
mice-tusks root up the sun
to warm the naked spaces....

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Everything is boring these days.

Hugs and smiles are boring.

I’ve evolved.

It’s me, it’s always been me.

But now, there’s been a transformation.

I feel like saying that, and yelling that, and texting that.

And…I’m crazy.

And…I’ve devolved.

I went away and came back.

It was silly. It was like a dream.

I was dramatic back then.

I smile again.

I hug my mom, and it’s real.

It was like a dream.

But maybe some changes stuck, after all....

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