I ask as the shell removes itself
And the elements go back to being elemental,
The body revealed as politic, mercurial
Beyond the veil, tightened and tempered
Like drapes drawn for Amelia Bedelia's wardrobe
Though I may have oversqueezed the toothpaste
On that one.
Ring the bell clear, a strict two carrot a visit
Diet if you want to call what you eat a program.
Whatchu talking bout Willis? "Honeywood Lane"
"Sunday Drive" -- checked agin! Information
Is everywhere, even Egret Lane, we work on
Each other's nervous systems that way, let's call it
Healing, an Archer, as the sudden sign prompts,
Calibration in Cosy Casa --
It's all laid out, our path and our work
By commercial concerns that any day
Could close down -- and whatever happened
To the one they called "Un", so captured
In high school glory, only to go on
To living apart, from me at least, in my
Ignorant reveries where all is as it was
And all it will ever be.
But I oversauced as usual the Bourgignon.
The emollients guidelines include
A whiff of optionality, like the law to Greeks.
When you see the word blue on a white car
It sets you back, makes you question what you
Know, but then you realize it's all connected, but
What you focus on, the way you're lasered -- All-
American Asphalt -- pulls you to the loop
Where you are a part of something other
Than what you are. When they say you gotta
Be present, they mean nondistracted present,
To put your attention in the flow lane.
They stumble out of Starbucks one by one
Thinking only of themselves -- but they look
To me, who looks right through, because even a
Micro-glance
And I'm living in their kitchens as they squeeze
Out the shit and juice and the heaviness
Of being them hits. Instead there's Wonder Produce,
Silverwood, the Brinkley. Halal Montessori ...
And Halosox, who wouldn't want a good pair of that?
But it's distraction, the information train on overload,
We don't know how to stop it because we don't realize
We are its conductor
In piezoelectric excitation, astral crispr to excavate
The Milton S. Eisenhower time capsule of dormant
DNA, according to the Edgar Cayce lookalike prophet
Who said it was coming and is finally gone, like that other
Cassandra named Mobius, who even moved to the undeveloped
World "and largely backed it up" (his obit said) but now that
It is here he's no longer needed, though even he didn't see
JFK Jr. below the doctor's glowing hand.
Ah, fresh graffiti, more lifelike than ever, and the white
Shoe brigade, talk of woodcocks strutting different stuff
Down Park Avenue, and it might be the cumulative Schumann
But some chef named Gruel is running for office. You say Waygo
I say Waygu, I see wild onion you see dutch iris, but we both see
The crow on the Chipotle, down the coastest with the mostest.
Look there's a CRISPR environmental services dump truck
Or is it a bull shovel?
BARNPWR makes me see the barn power of the populist
Revolution while you see barn pawer, what drove your horse
To its knees, but when the separate houses of my mind
Have been connected into one circuit, things like that don't matter
As much as the Utah license plate, which carries in its symbol
The glory of the great Southwest, which lives in my bones
Though it is not here -- in Hidden Ridge, source of a spring
Of underground politics,
But even the biker bar has a kind of tarnished charm
And there's still value being the king of the hill who sees
Everything below with secure compassion, for everything unfolds
With a grace all its own, and seeing it unlocks a living thing
Behind the scenery of appearance, where the squirrel
Appears to vie for the limited hay
When it is only there
To be seen.
