Sunday, April 18, 2010

Crawl Out of Your Pupa


I don't think crying will help
There's nothing good on TV
Rock stars take up your time
Books are good can you read?

Crawl out of your pupa
But don't come crawling to me
Crawl out of your pupa
Create you own destiny

Love is something we live on
Like flowers rolling in weeds
So drop your play acting
Roaring wind shakes the trees

Crawl out of your pupa
But don't come crawling to me
Crawl out of your pupa
Create your own destiny

Spend your life in a pupa
A butterfly building its wings
Cicada sings in the oak tree
You were born to float on the breeze

Crawl out of your pupa
But don't come crawling to me
Crawl out of your pupa
Create your own destiny


















































































Thursday, April 8, 2010

XB-70 Aesthetics



















I do not know nor
May I ever know
Mach 3 at 70,000 feet
But I approve it
Just the same
As falling in Love
With a good-looking
Blonde who shines
Bright as a Valkyrie
Sent by the gods
To drag the dead away.
"Do you believe in Love
At first sight?"
"Yes," Ringo sang,
"I'm certain
That it happens
All the time."

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Art of the Prose Poem: From the Secular Iconography of Inevitable Progress to the Valorization of a Dreadful Absurdity























"Up, reach up! Higher! Higher! Rise and ascend!" we cried. "Roar forth against the brow of the boundless sky, O bird of silver steel and singing flame!" And, dog-gone-it, up she went!

















In those days we were all rocket scientists, our ballistic fleets mere child's play, day after day seducing us, propelling us, thrusting us, exalting us toward an effortless sense of glue-together achievement transcending the mundanity of worldly morality and the neck-breaking burden of the geopolitical albatross!