Like Moo or Something

I pelted the transmission
with a graph of some kind.
Then I stuck a needle
through the whole of middle earth,
a squishy stammer
that would amount to
nothing but a syringe
in a pile of rocks anyway.

We can’t all predict
where we’ll get those molten ideas,
but it certainly doesn’t hurt
to throw your dice into the wind
and see which cows snarf them up
when they hit the ground.
Hopefully they have big spots
that spell out words
when you look at them really close,
like moo or something.

In a Landfill Now

Dolores Hidalgo was a friend of mine, so kind to me about the hidden kneecap in my chest. Never once did she judge the logic of a patella near my left ventricle (like so many so-called friends I’ve had). She was happy enough just listening to my woes, her big wide eyes never blinking. Come to think of it, I never saw her move unless I was the one to change her position. Folks always called her a doll, which I always attributed to her immense kindness. It wasn’t until I started taking medication for my delusions that I began to realize that she was truly an inanimate object (in a landfill now).

The Hand Towels of Obscurity

We continue to linger
like the lint
in the trap of our imperial leaders,

awaiting the day
when the door
opens and an air-laden scoop digs us

out from under the hand towels
of obscurity.
From there, our only hope is

to be placed on a suitable pedestal
and hewn into
adorable pet-like creatures,

so we may be given a loving home and
provided with
adequate nutrition for the rest of

our natural lives (or until
that owner dies,
whichever happens to come first).

A Little Twangy Twinge

Tell the Grand Poobah that his sticks have no reason to be mad at me for my words. All I wanted to do was illustrate why they should prefer to be called twigs in the grand scheme of things. We all need a little twangy twinge of sound every now and then, including these sentient tree limbs. Please just relay this message to him and his (the Poobah and his Stickssociates), as I’m looking forward to a lifetime of labeling the uncanny phenomena that are becoming ever more common with each passing moment in this plant-dominated tryptosphere.

Earmarks of Ethics

Let them battle on
like beetles in a bottle
made of black boron brisket basters,

see if I care.
I’ll be too busy
lifting a lark from grand larceny

at the local
law-enforcement library,
settling into books about justice

and the earmarks
of ethics on an enlightened society.
Just take, for instance, the calm songbird

known as the
male gavel finch. This master
of manipulation picks up a stick in its beak

and slams it
against the trunk of a tree,
making vibrations imperceptible by humans,

but irresistible
to the finicky female.
One well-placed strike may be all it takes.

Large Woodland Mammals

I won’t steer you
in any specific direction
until you’ve actually tried my cereal.

Just two doses a day
can ward off severe depression,
as evidenced by my friend Smoky over here.

He used to be
an average melancholic bear, but
after an all-cereal regimen, he was bouncing

off the walls
all the time. Granted,
an all-cereal diet will be high in sugar,

but you mustn’t discount
the great benefits just because
of a little weight gain and jitteriness.

Effects of this product
have not been extensively documented
on human subjects, but there is a glut of research

as it pertains
to the treatment of large woodland
mammals (bears, quadrupeds, yetis, etc.).

By the Needle’s Edge

Inheriting the winds
of travel – to many arenas,
more than our fair share –
breathes legacies
into stagnant patches
of ordinary air.

The threat comes
from threading gusts
by the needle’s edge
just long enough
to get a proper bearing.

We will soar overseas
if our math is correct,
and don’t ask
what will happen
if it isn’t.