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 ::