Roach Trap

* * * *

I caught a cockroach with a cup.
There was nothing to crush him with easily at hand,
so I trapped him in a glass.
He tested the perimeter,
sporadic, lunging jumps,
while I found a wooden lacrosse stick - a bottle-cap attached to the bottom.

Can one cultivate compassion for an exploded cockroach?

God Light

* * * *

The filtering light made the room seem smokey.
The fan spun slow over head - the ceiling shifted on rotating shadow beams.
The blinds failed to block the day.
It was the eerie light that slips down through a forest canopy, or
dives through gaps in the cloudcover.
You called it God Light.
There were prisms in the air, but I was alone.

Reality broke back there.
We’re definitely going back where we came from.

I have thirst.
Tube of Life.

My hands are thick and hairy.
My feet are crafted clubs.
My knickers never get dirty,
Ornamented in this Terrapin patch.


Bucolic. (byoo-call-lick)
Remember when we were walking,
And the sound of our steps fell in time.
Sampling the strolling sound scape,
We started touching and tapping.
Energy both yours and mine.
That’s Natural rhythm.
Easy as it comes, easy as it goes.
Casually tap into the effervescent energy in the rhythm in the
deepest neonforest.


Constantly contacting condescending constituents,
crooks, cramming coerced, convoluted concepts,
conveniently condoned, and conditional upon one’s candid-acy.
Coming completely out of nowhere.



Murky Love,
Live from Mercury.
The mercurial dove dove off a monkeys back; hide.

Makin’ dreams come true
Is all we ever do.

Five Times Fast

Five Times Fast Times Fast


Cape Town Table Top Cable Car Tourist Trap
The thirsty nurse reversed the burst person’s dispersion.
The earthly mirth of my girth first cursed the perfect purse of my inert self-worth.
Yogh! Eee wrote doting notes, emoting mostly loathing for proper boating clothing.
Rose, don’t stow my clothes; suppose we re-pose as I doze?
Alter rain with your all-terrain tires; from mire, the altar is stained.


(Kaap Staad á soir.)

Simple Thoughts

The body is a temporary temple;
Inhabited by - infused with - an in-visibly acting spirit,
Manifested in the mind.
Slave to body.

Sit somewhere in between.

The body is an instrument;
meaning-fully manipulated by some mind-spirit
- self or not - constantly re-defined in the moment of choice.
Suffer from destiny; karma accrued.

Now then; choose again.

Haiku

. . .

A Walk in the Woods.
The Forest fills me with Life.
I step on an Ant.

. . .

You fit in my arms
like Brazil did Africa.
Continental drift.

Poem

This poem is boring.
It is plain as can be.
I did it on purpose.
It doesn’t even rhyme.
Each line has six syllables.
Except for that last one.