not the future, please!

Never knowing the future
Is like not knowing the past.

Both are up and down, gone,
here and there.

Little words for the big–
BIG mystery that we should let be:

The future, and the past.

Mystery is the diet between too many words spoken,
Heard,
Forgotten.

Hints

Hints are strong scents,
Hidden, invisible and
Deep.  Riding air or
Sometimes hiding
Within.

Hearts don’t speak;
They cry.  We listen to
Calls and see gestures.
Guessing and feeling
What lies beyond.

All we have are hints, and like
Bloodhounds moving quickly
Through underbrush and bobbing cattails,
We follow a secret trail under the noonday sun.

Logic and belief

Logic will make a start:
Learn logic and never lose your way
Nor get criss-crossed by unproven, unspoken beliefs.

Learn logic, my friend, my friend.
Thought-machines whirring and then later
High sounding words form,
Fomenting–nobody will understand.

Learn logic and die a little;
Learn more and live a little;
Learn words and only then
Will the mad masses disbelieve what you say.

Disregard them.

You have learned to kill things first:
Parse the parts and learn the whole.

Learn logic: no soul.
Study and dissect.
No soul exists that can’t be dissected into
Parts as innumerable as the stars.

Synapses, brightly burning;
Sociology, a bright building;
Neurons, that’s it. Just it, nothing more.

Nobody needs to learn more;
Contentment is a blessing.

Blessing is the not-knowing of all what the
Present-time says, and, seeing it,
Just using it.

Forget your past.

Here you are.

Roadway

Cars spot-on move along
Setup by those–the past.
Never think about that.

Grain elevators scarred
White in places whether painted or just diseased;
You decide the disrepair or just general unease.

Citygrids undulating skipping passing
Weaving playing cat’s cradle on some grand scale–

Balancing hands and twine,
String’s fingers setup by those above–but not too far up
Up and only down the block.

Unlike God, you can talk to these people.

Like God, they won’t talk back.

Footprints

Drop drip, azure lake

Hope for hurricanes–

Anything to break the

Crested white foam washing up on the beach.

Anything to interrupt the pulsing panting of

Lapping waves.

Sometimes you interrupt them yourself:

Plant your feet in the deep wet sand.

Saltwater circling round, keeping moving

Waves wash move and lap, erasing planted

Footprints, ephemeral sketches etched in the

Movement of time.

How to Write by Gertrude Stein

image

Is the quarter ironic or just misplaced?

Heaven

Pretend
You can see
Ideals
Set above clouds.

Strangers set.
Loved ones set.
Friends set.

Sentences set in place
Above the unknowing
Word–above dead green grass.
Above stagnant brown trees.
Above all that fails us while walking.

Ready for the fast-paced running thru
What we wonder:
Why is there something–

And not nothing?

Questioning is, and will remain,
Our piety.

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