got dot

the selenium silence

and who would i write to today
everyone a thunder from the far off


my curtains are open i watch the new
neighbors pull in belongings
over the their heads, trudge back
and forth to parking lot
so many have driven on the lawn
i wonder if i should tell them or would that seem
too foward, single woman, nosey neighbor
with the windows open begging
to be noticed? in apts the pretense
of privacy must be maintained by cooperative
ignore/ance. i may have seen you
remove her satin yellow bra between the slits
of the wide open vertical
canyons on your windows rub your skin
rough with a day's carbon deposits
earth under great pressure become glints
of diamond under your eyes but i will
never acknowlege your humanity. i watch you
in silent observance, through glass
and the invisible barrier of my patio
as i watch the squirrels hug clumps
of branches in the rain or ducks feeding
on torn bits of bread ends, the ones no one
wants, and soda crackers crushed
when he sat on the opened pack left care
less lee in the sofa. i give you the privacy
of machine. functioning in your gearage
as i function in mine, tick
tock we're a clock.


nod to you if our eyes meet
this is as far as privacy can meet trust
in a functioning hive.


wouldn't psi powers be so scarey at first.
you'd have to be born into a scociety that had evolved first
awareness from the start. like a forest mind
otherwise our individual masks would simply be unable
to cope with the different realities which used to be us.

we're too caught up in integrity to understand
that experientially differing soils will produce
mutated versions of our psinome-the indiviual little pockets
of post it glue which retain our own bubbles of whatmeansbeingme-
iow, we're all the same basic seed planted in different soils.
iow, we're the same soul with differing body
iow, how you act is how i'd be within the same circumstances.
this is when forgiveness becomes understanding
and ceases to have subject and object. i am he as you are she
as you are are me
and we are all togeth/toge//t//her//ther/erer.

so anyway, if we had all been connected at birth
not only to the other births occuring at that momentito
but to all the briths and deaths 7 lives corporealized as
we came into this whole she bagging bangin ball
then ummm, psi wouldn't be a problem..oh telepathy,
i'm talkin telepathy. i just remembered the word
but if i had your brain to access then bam it woulda
been there in an instant. which now begs the question
if you don't have an individual reality from which
to understand and know different things than i do
then we'd all be stuck in a vapid stoopid stagnant pool.
but we'd be content. we might even sing. unaware
of anything different than we, in fact this homogeity
would be the only existence , ever, in the universe.

how would we ever even evolved an off switch?
how would we know off? well, the only dichotomy
which could be wrought is being and nothingness.
both going on simulanteously. in and out. pulse
and null. one and zero. boolean algebra.


maybe that off is what enables the diversity we have now.
do we like this diversity? the other and me.
me and then there's all these others.
same as me. but joyfully different.
faraday strings across points of splatter
iron filings lining up.
this way boys i got your hamstrung
defeciencies to ball up and bucky
the narl skim.




enuf about that. telepathy might stagnate creativity.
unless it had an offswitch. a directional antenna.
this is why vr is such a temptation.
accessable experience of a limited nature.


there was a lizard in my kitchen
the other day. every night a frog
hops away from my door as i approach.
i still see the giant toad
which got in our closet
the weekend we moved in.
that fucker was HUGE.
i'm talking a couple hands big.
in all directions. a ten pounder, ez.
i didn't know such creatures still existed.
it was like seeing a dinosaur.
on a very small scale, but just as extinct.

i like living on this lake behind
my strewn stretched sheets, walls which i can
remove when i want to see out.
saturday mornings and such.
the air in moist coils, a carolina quietide
oaks dripping benevolent. the peaks across
the olympic size pond evoke fairies somehow
and butterflys on wicker porch swings
just outside your field of vision.
birds fly into the branches i've seen
a painted hawk fiercely sitting
on the branch outside my patio, i call
him with my eyes. he is the color of the branch.
squirrels scold him mightily , he kingly
ignores. he may be a she. how would i know
stuck in my ignorance to this earth?


political correctness rears
and that's all ok n stuff? but i was memed
this way, it's most natural to me.
the other way impeeds my flow, man.

lol. i'm not writing this for a damn class.
but still. how else to retrain yourself.
it was imprinted. question to ponder
experiment to proceed is can early
childhood imprints be erased and replaced
with new ones. i think this has been
proven up to a certain point. we can
retrain ourselves. we can deliberately
alter what we say. but does that alter
what we believe. in our deepest belly be lies
we were told as children which run thru
us now like sandspurs thru wind.

i hear him. i must go see him.
i called, he came. nope was just
a blue jay. then a bevy of them,
and squirrels, trapezing the trees.
the grandmother oak is right outside
my door. then next to it and in a circle
around the pond are all the brothers
and sisters holding hands. it appears idyl
then jet wash, and i notice
seven huge branches amputated one
would have been a bridge to the earth
four or five monkey nests or whatever
passes for primate in the wilds of florida
these surgical manuvers to in order to build
housing for this scourge called man.

how i hate what we take. but
i accept myself too. i know that i
must live. and that means others
must give way. the tree survives
truncated. there is room for all
properly tended. it's just nature
evoloving. hey the squirrels
and ducks, even the jays dig on
the bread we toss. the trees go on being
inscrutable homes for the leftover
wildlife. we give them this much space
and take this for ourselves. oh hubris
when will you be satisfied? this is humanity's
curse. hunger and memory of it.





oy im in a mood. halfway between saint
and blowhard. no wait. all blowhard.
hurricane zeta. the last of its time.
the prime of its line. the saint said
to the beggar and the beggar shook his hand.
the saint didn't understand.