#36. The Seven Day Theory, Part 4

Here was that
utopia.

On a bench in a park
where the ponds rippled
lonely
we considered darkly
strange notions
experimentations
justifications
patronization
in a world without
patrons
wild orchids spat acrid acid
no reason to resist
unchained
without chains
there were no chains
nothing to soak in the sun
sink into ripened bananas
blossomed with flowers
beauty unrestrained
unexamined
without purpose

when the world whirls without wonder
what wisdom wins?
worry not weary wanderer
writhing wounds the witness
wary wastrel winding
where wrath resides
we do not

prestine means nothing
it is a fairy tale
that unattainable ideal
a figment
an excuse
a hook
a phantom
a pretty picture
fantasy epics pretend
they know
distractions creating shadows
along the wall of wicked absurdity
batting an eye
that obscene allure
totally accepted

the bench we sit on
is not real
it is a conjuring
to fill a void
slaughtering the garden
red roses plucked clean
we look away
ashamed of our innocence
enjoyment
we are not one.

Here we sullied
utopia.

#35. The Seven Day Theory, Part 3

We looked
upward.

Monkey sat with a piece
of chalk in hand
the blackboard before him

littered

if there was a code
it was our understanding
deciphering the delineations
would have been
easier

Virgo scratched his head
lost in thought
picked at himself
nibbled his fingers
sucked on the chalk

we were slightly put off

Virgo grew irratic
irrational
to our minds
tossing erasers
bits of chalk
his hands in
the air
screeching
womping the black
board

after an hour
or so
we grew
bored

Virgo kept at it
grew calm
returned to the etchings
a new dawning
his mind cleared

perhaps

more hand panning
chalk swirling
thoughts translated
but not
for us.

we looked
upward and away.

#34. The Seven Day Theory, Part 2

Between the waters
we found definition.

There were ambiguities
long and succulent
crashing, clashing, lashing
chaos evident yet unihibited
truncated to some degree
puzzled,
we trudged along
embezzled by a sensation
lost among the distance
never touching never reaching
surrounded and impeaded.

Confusion reigned
we skipped along
splashing, spacing, pacing
unheralded as the resplendant sea
it was there
no one noticed until they did
then they went back to their lives
a momentary spite
bespectacled hecklers hectored
nary a thought to the grain
unrepentent.

Some day we laugh
shrug off a pitiless moaning
mourners of the unmourned morning
exposed,
vulnerable and plenty
inviting jackals
if there were any
there aren't
we moved along
past a puddle paralyzed
unrippled.

Between the waters
we surveyed definition.

#33. The Seven Day Theory, Part 1

There was
some light.

Tarried by some particular urge
we searched the verdant underworld
sunken beneath a putrid folly where
the accounts of hallowed fiends festered
withering beside a caldron lightly.

Broken from this shell of falsehood
punctured by a fit of reason
capturing the fancy of some troubadour
ventured southward of insanity by
shaken faith for a kind of vanity.

There were other places far beyond us
cotton candy winterlands decorated in
existential windmills -- caught between
the breeze and a vague notion
that they themselves moved their blades.

One by one dapper villains twirled
umbrellas with their gauntlet-covered hands
swinging gently round and round
catching each stray misty wet flurry
drop by drop.

Up just ahead there stood the door
our passage out from this
perpendicular to a wolfish grin
type
the door opened itself.

There was
a light in there.

#32. About the Seven Day Theory

The Seven Day Theory, a seven-day poem, will begin today. Just thought you'd like to know. And no, it will be nothing like Flat Kansas...whatever that was...

#31. Melancholy

There's a touch of melancholy when you expect someone to go somewhere, don't really much want them to, and then they off and don't. It's a bittersweet disappointment.

#30. Flat Kansas

Flat Kansas is not what it is.
Flat Kansas is not what you think.
Flat Kansas sings when you're not.
Flat Kansas whistles, mostly.

Flat Kansas is not Kansas Flat.
Flat Kansas does not make mistakes.
Flat Kansas dos not make mitsakes.
Flat Kansas is a curiosity.

Flat Kansas wanders aimlessly.
Flat Kansas does not AIM.
Flat Kansas also does not like AOL.
Flat Kansas thinks the new version is the same as the old.

Flat Kansas is not a person.
Flat Kansas is not a thing.
Flat Kansas isn't even a place.
Flat Kansas is likewise not a concept.

Flat Kansas is nothing, really.
Flat Kansas just sounds cool to the Scouring Monk.
Flat Kansas will never be anything but what it is.
Flat Kansas is nothing.

Flat Kansas might sound off the paranoid.
Flat Kansas will not arise the ire of Tom Ridge.
Flat Kansas could be the name of a band.
Flat Kansas is not a band.

Flat Kansas likes to linger.
Flat Kansas has no real purpose here.
Flat Kansas will go on and on.
Flat Kansas cannot overstay its welcome.

Flat Kansas was not welcome.
Flat Kansas doesn't care.
Flat Kansas doesn't think.
Flat Kansas couldn't think.

Flat Kansas
Flat Kansas
Flat Kansas

#29. Descartes Made Me Do It

Well hey, is someone reading this? Here're two bits of interest: Descartes wondered if that he thought whether that proved he was real, and if you're thinking this up and wondering if you're really the only person in existence, then you have one peculiar imagination. Quit thinking in the second person! Quit it! Quit it now! You'll begin to think yourself mad!

...This blog stuff is fun...

#28. Wind Blowing

Wither way does the wind blow? One cannot say, for the winds are fickle in nature and do not care where they go. Were one to catch it in a bottle, they would find that it was nothing at all, and that they should have been looking at the sky instead.