AND one hand clapping against
the shuttered storm cellar doors is
never a reason to deny ability:
like mushroom clouds as falling
tears splatting fragments of
dusted minds – by parched perched
gills of neon fossils; the signs are
here, there, and within the ? of
a hungry-starved dying youth/
/->the ordered degree of chaos!
By opened minds the wheels turn
as curving fanning windmills churn;
Abrasions of mental collisions
As rough as life and art
(and smooth as death and data)
all atheist and scientist know:
who cares if the tree makes a sound
when it dies AND I say “hello” to
a black void but no reply, ergo:
AVOID.
:: 06-29-2017 ::
