Computer Screen

Programming all day on the Commodore
64 produces a mediocre score.
Such a step down from war-room machines
with tape reels, punch cards, and eerie green screens;
the dot matrix printers hammering glyphs,
zipping out reams: my reluctance to shift
toward digital homes, from analogue
continuity—the move from prologue
of gigantic boxes of vacuum tubes
to pocket phones replacing mainframe rooms.
The information age grows like kudzu:
resistance futile, chips in any purview.
From punch cards of Babbage to Turing-complete;
to a world-wide net of nothing discrete.
Great! Information now, not later;
but look out for the Terminator.


⅔ of 20 Questions

vascular green;
seeding, rooting, oxygenating
chlorophyll foodstuff. Eukaryotic movers:
breathing, metabolizing, reproducing
heterotrophic, chambered

Inorganic Chemistry with a Twist

bloodless black;
killing, sleeping, resting
casket earth. Womb light:
awakening, rising, beholding;
viable current

Capping the Middle-Ground

reflective blank;
contrasting, inviting, defining
photon noise. Aether grave:
expanding, swallowing, erasing;
mysterious stoic

Sensation of Floating in Spacetime

perpendicular Cartesian;
unending, framing, curving—
breathing room. Interval dimension:
sequencing, ticking, flowing
progressive, indefinite


Beans or stones
from parts unknown,
sand grooves
to wire slides in
frames of bamboo;
place value a priori
to Arabic-Hindu,
O dusty board
of grid-crossed lines:
arithmetical abaci
exchange numbers
across parallel bones
connecting Earth
and Heaven in
chakra spines,
living fossils of
core functions of
revealed manually.

The World

The world has been created before.
Omnipotence can be quite a bore;
Like onion shells—level by level:
Dogwood, Dobermann, and the Devil;

Just like the steps of stairs:


From OM in the ground of all being,
The eye in the darkness, all-seeing,
Involution led to fire & sparks,
A cycle of rivers and rain . . .


Laughter of God in the vacuum
Remembering how to fill the room,
Creation is comic tragedy.

Why are all these stars past the sky-blue ?

42 !

That is why there is a me
and a you.

Red Panda

Waddling down from the
temperate firs netted with
red-brown moss, the red
bear-cat outfoxes the snow
leopard tracking the cuteness.

From foothill forests
of the Himalayan range,
pandas eat bamboo,
the reason for the false thumb:
convergent evolution,

like giant pandas
of no close relationship;
just the same food source.
The Himalayan Mountains
plowed by crashing India,

tall as gravity
allows: a postcard bleakness
frames the red panda,
a musteloid related
to weasels, skunks and raccoons.

It twitters and tweets
at dusk and into the night,
cleaning like a cat
before marking on patrol.
A cornered fire fox stands tall.

The Smell of Old Books


The sense of smell sits
on the margin of memory,
connections that conjure
the relics and records
collecting layers of
dust, darkening buddhi.
Evolving volatiles that
whiff of chocolate or coffee,
waft from the timeworn
tomes drafting whilom tense:
measures that manufacture
the mind from milestones.



Shades of former selves in the caverns below
mill around the Lethe and the Styx, abstract.
Coda for the ages of man from Shakespeare
settle in ebbing.

Metabolic failings announce onsetting
aging filching life from the cells and tissues:
fading sight, and silence replaced with phantom
chirping of crickets.

Souvenirs of memory counter symptoms,
leading one to question the worth of life;
databases adding up bits of self-hood—
proof of existence

more alive than life, that is only machine:
longing spirit acting despite the laws of
thermodynamics, that slow the spinning gears
toward a standstill.