UBIK
Everything, everywhere
All = you
you = everything,
everywhere
Be = you
I am
I am
you I am
Everywhere, everything
All
you
Me
you
We
you
Him
you
Her
you
ME
ME
ME
ME
All for a LOWLOW price!
9 – nest – (inga simpson)
your bones hollow, dressed in your prettiest threafds
waiting for the return of the fallen
memories collected around your heart
a soft place to rest
a home hoarded, from other discarded lives
distain at your ramshackle life
but you alone have woven hope from death.
Hour 9 – The Broken Lands
The Broken Lands
They brought in big earth movers
And dug a scar in the rich brown earth
Where once had stood a bright red barn,
A pasture for cows, and before that
A virgin forest where deer and bear roamed
Now
Upturned land
Rows and rows of metal pipe
Were nested in the trench
Covered over
And left
Soon natural gas will flow underground
A poison in a pipe, hopefully to stay
Contained in its vessel
But the land itself will never be the same.
Prompt 11 hour 9
Watership Down
we beg for our lives against the giants that cannot speak yet, they yell while we scream we run, we run snares and poison breaking families we hide, we hide. through the tunnels through the earth when home is no longer safe. take us to the Watership Down where we can find refuge among others that have been displaced. C. Churchill
Overturned
I’ve knocked you off your perch at last,
You wretched bird faced creep!
And there you lie, all black and ragged,
Downed by your criminal past!
It wasn’t such a cosmic leap,
You being just a maggot
On the face of a zombie cast
From a herd of sheep
That take the money to bag it.
It’s L’homme Mort, not Pour Homme, dumb ass.
But I have to admit he was cute – the zombie, that is.
And I strongly recommend the Chablis.
8- A Freeform Haiku Quartet on Bees and Me
Truth is subjective. Is an orchid a flower, or a bee’s lover?
Is truth mutable? One turns my truth a lie’s nest, and hollows through my soul.
Oblivious truth… one calls me all the uglies. Lies become my truth.
Lies are not my truth. An lover’s still a flower. The bees and I aren’t fooled.
The Contortionists Handbook, Hour 9
Pretzeled into knots
Not as complex as they seem
Thought quality like a lingering lucid dream
So many schemes
So many avenues of deception both to others and to self
Inspiration at the sacrifice of health
So fucking mental
The trick to bend around society’s rigidity
Tranquility in blending with the artificial mass
So act an ass and watch the TV dictate manufactured dreams
This cultural monotany cannot last
Curse Breaker
As I listen to my children
I shake my head with disgust, sadness, regret
Not at them or because of them
It’s because of myself
This is what I passed down
When they were but eggs in my womb
I’m not able to change what was done before me
Or take back the curses that my mother spoke on me and them
And I cannot take back the curses that I gave with my words and actions
Before I real-eyes I don’t want to stay the same
I needed to change
And change is what I did
Change is what I’m doing
However the consequences and side effects of the curse must play out
As I continue to pour, do, speak, act
Healing
That blessing of peace
For my children and me
Creating, teaching, reprogramming, molding, sharing, showing
MAKing more Curse Breakers
Who will make more Curse Breakers
Till there’s no curse left to break
And leaving love, peace, healing, health, success, prosperity, life, fun, laughter, Connectedness
What Curses Have You Broken Today!
Wild?
Into the wild I go, brazen and brave.
Leave it all behind, no turning back.
Will I ever be satisfied, it seems unlikely.
Brazen and Brave I go.
Crack callouses lead me, following my heart.
Dirty hair spirals out of my head, shielding me from the sun.
My only possession is my soul, it guides me to where I need to be.
Brazen and Brave I go.
My story begins now.
Was it all worth it?
Leaving my family behind, no plans?
Brazen and Brave I go.
And now I’m gone, my name an echo in English class.
My choices marked with red pen and yellow highlighter.
More known in death, than I ever was during life.
Brazen and Brave I go.
Into the wild, I went.
Pan Grandma
Certain dogs can look like mini llamas when shaved short. Some dogs don’t, just certain ones. That doesn’t mean they are mini llamas. They just look like mini llamas.
I tend to look like a stereotypical lesbian when my hair is pixie short. Some women don’t, just certain ones, like myself. Not that I mind so much looking like a lesbian, but I would like to look like what I am, neither llama nor lesbian.
Those same llama looking dogs will look like giant collies when their coats are grown back. I grow my hair out, and look like a soccer mom. Not that I mind looking like a soccer mom, but I would like to look like what I am.
A collie looks like a collie looks. A llama looks like a llama looks. A lesbian looks like whatever she wants to look like. A stereotypical lesbian looks like a stereotypical lesbian looks. A soccer mom looks like a soccer mom looks… what does a Pan Grandma look like?
I want to look like whatever a Pan Grandma looks like, not a collie, or a soccer mom, or a llama, or a lesbian.
I want to look like what I am.