I think
You ought to be
Perfectly imprecise
And terribly unordered
According to the world’s standards
For when you do
Then
You shall find
The order of YOU
And this is as it should be
You get to travel
really far. But first
you had to be
transmogrified
to ash and gas,
and some of your
atoms will reach
escape velocity
and fall back into
the sun. It was
borrowed material
anyway, and fine
free Someday
was a good day
for returns anyway.
The night
Like water over stones
The moon
Reflected in the pond
My spirit
Calm and at peace
Loathe to return
To the body
And the waking world
In this place
Of simple being
There is home
There is serenity
All is well
Very smoky out this morning, the sun a deep orange. When Wally was a puppy three years ago, it was like this, though worse. Hotter, and the grass dry and stiff. I wrote about that smoky summer and @robmclennan published it at Dusie. It's one of the poems in my (still technically circulating?) MS.
3D printing everything,
copying it bit by bit.
Filament is made from
bits of real world”,
the ad says. The duplicate
will be indistinguishable
from the original. My
evil plan is afoot. I
don’t worry about
fidelity. My
predecessor
didn’t either.
Evil hands wring
“muahahah.”
A burst of color in bespeckled night,<br></br>you came into my life like foxfire’s glow:<br></br>and I was left agape beneath your light,<br></br>a dancing phosphorescence on the snow.<br></br><br></br>I tried awhile to catch you in my grip,<br></br>like clay that reaches upward to the sun;<br></br>and earthbound I, like sunlit dirt, would slip<br></br>and end our rendezvous ere it begun.<br></br><br></br>Aurora, how I long to watch you dance!<br></br>Once in my lifetime I had eyes to see<br></br>your form across the starlit night by chance;<br></br>to some you’re commonplace, but not to me.<br></br><br></br>Aurora, you who animates the sky,<br></br>I’ll never hold you, but I’ll always try.<br></br>