Let’s just start by saying I’m partly human

Standard

Let the bionic hand that caresses a child be

more machine than motheresque. The eyes that

only see, doesn’t shine

be vermin and not

vermilion.

Tethered echoes

floating through our conscience – let them

drown in the black abyss

of the burning smell of

capacitors, resistors, transistors – silicon and steel.

The isolation, let it be

complete, man from himself, reveling

in things that he invented, but forgetting

what invented him.

 

The Modern Nomad

Standard

In vastness of Patagonia,

I’ve heard hoofs making noises of muted

conversations; terrible wind notwithstanding,

a lonely Condor circles around

the last refuges – after which

human powers doesn’t

withstand.

An Armani blazer kisses the dirt that was once lava.

The naked body up for swim in the

acid lake amongst the Flamingos,

I eat sulfur for breakfast, and spew

magnificent Cadmium red and green

poems.

I sniff the fresh smell of snowflakes on

skin, running with Bisons and

diving with the gray whales.

This new earth is brutal,

but I love it. No love,

no connection, just

nomad-ing.

 

 

Waardenburg Syndrome

Standard

Whims tinkling like a lure shaped nausea,

bright hands look for escape. But I’m not running

away.

 

Founding fathers have become preachers, and cities

cotton-candy laced with drugs. The faint tolling of

churchbells have drowned in the

morning boots.

 

Did somebody say rainforests were

dying? The same masks are being sold in

bulk, and the civilization is

H

A

P

P

Y.