Me and Darwin

Darwin scratched his head
and kinda said
it went together
that if – by mutation –
you had acquired
something much-desired
[like some sorta
survival advantage]
it would be carried forward
by your offspring…

but, [now climbing up
the thinking hill – phew, pant]
doesn’t that equate
the will to survive
with the urge to procreate…?

Works for baboons, I guess
but [phew, pant] with none
to carry on anything of mine
[and that, by choice]
I wouldn’t be so quick to conflate
an impulse to reproduce
with a desire to [phew, pant]
make it to old age in one piece!

I think raising kids would have finished me off
years ago

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The Old Man

The old man
milks his sorrows like a goat
buries sad events
only to dig them up
whenever there’s a chance
to play the limping victim.

His wives have all died
dozens of times apiece.

His sons have lost more limbs
than a well-pruned tree.

Time will not turn
a dumb man wise –
but it may make him
ever-more deceitful.

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Scotch on the rocks, or Prometheus

religions are by and large founded
on principles of brotherly love – principles
they themselves help to trample
since, in the end, the dedication
of a tribe to a specifically identified deity
results in – at very least – the exclusion
of other tribes and, at very worst, the
desire to exterminate all other beliefs.
reasonable men do not believe
in such unreasonable things.
reasonable men are willing to admit
when they haven’t a clue – or if they do
[have a clue] they have an intimate sense
of its being sublingual, impossible to reduce,
to translate – save, sometimes, in music or poetry…
perhaps not so much a belief as a trust –
a letting go – and not a fearful clutching on to,
as a child to his dad’s trousers – religion is
the lazy man’s answer to existential angst –
some men choose booze instead;
it amounts to the same thing in the end –
an inability to stand upright without a crutch

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New Text Rich Document

I like to ride a bear
watch a bicycle,
then fold
a fitted sheet
in quarters;
if the bear fits it in perferct fours
I take it as a sign
from the Great Zodiac…
btw no relation to Great Kodiak.

As Deacon Jestion
is on a Russian vacation
the homily will be given
by Deacon Struct…
bearing bare witness
and forgetting
what that rhymes with.

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Peace, like Gold

Peace, like gold, there for the finding,
glinting boldly in the sun –
heathen hates the war he’s losing
man of faith, all those he’s won.

No standard is the double standard –
single measure’s more than best
since morals can’t be gerrymandered
one’s treasure treasured is the test.

While some might find this way utopic
peace and reason are old friends –
war’s a coward’s way, myopic
for means are never far from ends.

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Introit

 Best pull the socks off
          before walking
             through jagged
                  green and brown
 ex-beer bottles
                     in those
        do-it-yourself war zones

   you know,
           where do-gooders
                  earn a living sometimes
  but would scream BLOODY MURDER
      if they had to spend a weekend

        Has something to do
           with
       giving your all
                                                I think
not just loose change
       or stuff       to be saved
              for some overpaid shrink

                   Because
        if there is no genuine
reaching out      some        actual
        touching of meaningfull  mass
   then all that glass
                        is just wasted

    runaway weeknight out
                   and the howler
              just another
tender-hearted pain in the ass
          cut and bleeding

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Caught off guard

O New York – I mean Manhattan –
pagan as a Christmas pine
the many-coloured lights enchanting
slippery rain-slicked macadam.

A snip of jazz – a grainy sequence
in black and white – something
comes each year as the curtain falls
on August and September rises, steadily
sure as a full-blooming back-to-school moon. . .
and I think of Nietzsche’s eternal returning –
the ring around the rosy glow
of someone’s laughing memories –
of running with Bruno across the park
of library cards and notebook dreams
and O, the heart’s strange and unsuspecting feast

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 [A madness blankets the earth]

 A madness blankets the earth –
     ponderous, stifling –
sanity sleeps lightly
               in the margins
                                on its border
                   like a silk binding
             a grace note
      in the thundering overture
           to Humanity. The coda
                          to narcotic prayers
           can never be
       a more (allegedly)
                 sincere devotion –
         HOWEVER SWEET THE TUNE –
    but the demolition of those fictions
 that are the resurgent pharoahs’ tools
            of enslavement
                 and alienation

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WINGS

…so he called her stupid
and said how can there be angels
if there is no god
? And she
[who had never even heard
the name Quantico] said Easy,
just imagine The Round Table
without Arthur.
At which he pulled
his oh-you-poor-dumb-creature face
and groaned – that’s what I mean:
who tells them what to do
?
And she said, no one needs to;
they know what to do;
they know what goodness is –
they’re angels
!
Arms folded now, but less belligerent
he questioned: So they know what’s right,
right? Yes,
she said, but she could see
he still didn’t get it, so she went on
It’s easy, really; all the goodness
there ever was – every impulse
ever spawned in consciousness –
[because to be good an act must be
more than instinct- inherited behavior ]
goodness in the universe
began at last to aggregate
because it is by nature cohesive
and it’s kinda like the amino acids
that eventually became life…
goodness grew … evolved …
and eventually there were angels

Oh yeah, he smirked and what about
all the EVIL impulses?
Evil
tends rather to isolation,
she replied
evil is divisive…
Goodness
is more like a snowball…
it grows bigger and stronger and
I guess it will some day
hold evil in check
I dunno but I think eventually
it’ll all come out right…

IF nothing stops it, he challenged.
Nothing can, she said. It can’t be
destroyed completely…it’s
like a network…

and what about when there’s a new angel ?
he wondered aloud, sincerely…
It’s only a virtual table
she answered
smiling

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aww, cantchya leave the thumpin to Thumper?

it isn’t the clothes they are wearin’
[believe me, I couldn’t be carin’]
it’s all that electioneerin’
my god, how I fear the god-fearin’!

to spout verses they always are willin’
such obsessions, to me are quite chillin’
– as if print words condoned interferrin’
my god, how I fear the god-fearin’

they think there’s a heaven they’re earnin’ –
if they catch me, I know I’m fer burnin’
or shot like a deer in a clearin’
my god, how I fear the god-fearin’

there really’s no way of explainin’
the hatred their god’s entertainin’ –
I’m certainly not volunteerin’
my god, howIi fear the god-fearin’

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