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

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."

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!