Poetry Informs

Poetry informs our very nature
it is woven into our existence
the saguaros of my youth —
in every word. I know some
who have chosen to give their
life to a company. Company
men they used to call them—
now just men.
I once had a boss with a
generator in his back-
yard. Sun draped mountain
ranges in every breath.
And here I choose poetry
everyday. What a cruel joke
the gods have played. Who
could wake up and go to work
and profit from corporate
spoils when the cormorant
flies over a rush-hour freeway
in the autumn twilight. Flies
across the glinting lake, and yet
no one has written it!


Poetry is like breathing; when attention is given an understanding comes up, seemingly, from nowhere.

Something to See

So I heard that we’re getting a little closer to flying cars.
Flying taxi cars actually.
I immediately thought of The Fifth Element
—of all the references that could’ve popped into my head.

Still it’s pretty far off, but
they’re actually in development and not only that,
they’re being test flown.
What’s amazing to me is to see the fantasy of
sci-fi comics and novels from the fifties/sixties and
eighties/nineties become the reality of today.

It’s like the lengths we’ll go to live our
childhood fantasies, at least, in one way or another.
Or like what narrow imaginations scientists really have.
But, so this got me thinking: if our technology
is driven by fantasies of the past
then
why don’t we start writing about a future that is driven by compassion, instead of business.
A future where the latest technology was no technology at all—
instead we realized the full capacity of our minds
with hard work, concentration, and self-control.

I know, I know crazy right.
Maybe the future is one where we figure out how to stop talking about the interconnectedness of all things
and we start living the interconnectedness of all things;
we could start by wiping out the disparity between rich and poor.

But maybe if this is the makeup of our stories
our ideals of the future,
then someday a scientist will wake up and realize he/she isn’t needed at all, because we’re all scientists making our own discoveries
every day, every moment. Now that would be something to see.

These are thoughts too

The most unusual cries are reverberating into the atmosphere,
bouncing from concrete walls to traffic sounds. Part loon, part howl; indistinct, yet through it a thought pierces the surface. . . people are. And it wasn’t exactly a thought thought in words as much as a collage of images, maybe a montage of sorts. In a nanosecond; people are. Here we exist together in this, whatever it is. This life we’ve made for ourselves. We are a part of this nature. We are to commerce as the crow is to songbird. And now I’m thinking that these cries are thoughts too. And I’m having a hard time distinguishing the inside
from the out.

It feels good (a non-binary poem or a pronoun poem)

After To a Poor Old Woman

By William Carlos Williams

crunching computer keys
sitting at the desk wearing
a curved bodice. Straight
and long black hair

It feels good to them.
It feels good
to them. It feels
good to them.

You can tell the way
they walk through the office—
bare ankles and flats
mindful of every step

Comforted yet somehow
isolated; vulnerable
to every word and silence.
It feels good to them