nothingbutpond’s ‘on having no perch’

stuck to my shoe,
notes explaining everything.
but unable to dodge
squirrel gifts,
raining from above.

the truth is out there–
another waffle house
philosopher,
life held together by
syrup.

deli griddles, hot
24/7 whether used or not.
an apparent efficiency
to just being on.

I would hang them on trees,
gently mocking my squirrels,
yet as much as is tried, these
hints are not separated at birth.
their delivery incomplete,
conjoined, and carried with.

perhaps a few of the most worn
are pulled from me as I stop
by Goodwill.

run quickly into your mind.
all about you here is foolishness
and misdirection.
enjoy your shelter, but
take it apart before the storm.
(remember, those neat tools you were given
were meant to assist in the destruction of an
edifice, not to maintain one).

understand
most things
happen sooner
or later
without your
permission.
agree on the
front end.
there may be
something in
it left for profit.

wax your boards,
the big kahuna is
splashing your way.

he always had a deadline,
determined by his own
type of clock.

eleven years ago this backyard fence was built,
(result of a breaking down
of other fences).
today these few lines picket
their way across my page
showing how porous
the current division in this yard.

picket fence, however, far more useful.

we stand up in the river
just so we know that
the river moves.
otherwise we can not
separate enough from
the water to understand
we are not apart.

fedora on a hat,
on a cap,
on a shelf.
piles of wraps
for a head
not in sight.

blur of catness,
bird airs it out.

where does all meaning arise?
today, grass springs back,
behind my steps.

sixty pounds of
sudden quiet.
dog, up to something.

complementary newspapers
thrown onto driveway.
house under attack.

you must have these letters to read,
yet how little glimpsed before
being devoured by words.

hmmm…are letters even allowed in our fleeting, voracious minds?

the special favor of the ‘dominant eye task’:
most only look through it;
few are those who can grasp the inverse and
release the obverse.
(he says he would rather do it than describe it.)

the correct procedure
first extracts the correctness.

who painted over my morning mirror?
where are the familiar hints?
still, whatever image this is, it is much improved
by spatters of toothpaste.

fence too short,
old “fast twitch” Gracie,
muscles too tall.
concurrent willings of
containment and escape.
four quick eyes on alert.

one guy wanted his hand
to be his head.
said he could trust it  more,
and he’d be on closer terms
with his gestures.

there are those who might say
‘put your ear to the ground and
your nose to the wind’.

from one ol’ Indian:
reverse it, and trail your self….

to exist or not to.
suddenly, green snake
swallowed by the garden.

at once a desire to be alone,
yet soon noticed how unnecessary.
a new kind of privacy.

most feel as if they are
in the wrong place,
even without contrary
signage.
just those geography
chromosomes acting
up again.

not a writer,
just a note taker.
if I get caught,
somebody might
want me to give
them all back.
I swear, I thought
they were free
for the getting.

white noise of traffic,
background din.
even internal voices
have to speak louder.

a comedian once remarked,
“you know that feeling when you’re
leaning back on a stool and it starts to tip over?
well, that’s how I feel all the time.”
–cool thought….

now, how bout living your life like
the precise moment you ‘get’ a joke?

these letters lay ordered by rule and notion.
yet, on occasion, I am able to view them
from the very page itself, looking upward
and outward with reversed perspective,
seeing the newly inked root of each character
tenuously clinging to its white field of reality.

it speaks from every
degree of slight,
here,
there.
no backs, no fronts.
only a vealing…..and some
revealing,
just to make sure.

do you think that
walking-around sleep
is concerned that nite-time
sleep gets all the attention?
not by the long shot
of stumbling over
your favorite pillow.

these should not be days of quiet desperation.
but of cantankerously loud ones.
it’s your rigid balance that needs disturbing.
fall toward the horizon,
away from the well-centered self.
(a small death is involved,
but thankfully, no mourning).

memorial drives and
carpentry in the rain,
moments more electrical
than our skilsaws.

still too many damp
giggles to count.

ubiquitous security cameras,
lives recorded but
not remembered,
definitely not saved.

the sky still comes forward,
and leaves behind
more sky coming.
everywhere, all is
standard and sufficient.

dogs, always full to the brim
with dog-ness.
why us inconsistent folks
admire them so.

before
words,
everything
still
really
was,
and,
was
really
still.

now push through this thin sheet,
it offers little resistance.
the universe, now, is expectant.

one movement.
now.

no one answers these persistent knocks.
life still searching.
hungry woodpecker.

Life is Tao.
give good form.

essence of aphorisms:
if you can pack-in idea,
you can spare word.

we need to explain.
we explain.
no other explanation
required.

to see your face before you were born
is not so arcane..
the right sided garden remains, though hidden by the
domination of leftist neurons,
who have controlled the nest almost since birth.

window.
either a seeing-through or, perhaps,
a stark reflection; nevertheless,
all pains tightly glazed
with refracted perceptions.

the barks of my dog
loosen the last of the falling fragrances.
paw prints through a dust
of colored Spring snow.

understanding mostly
chased by those who
have no use of it.

in the woods, I need no notebook.
the brook takes dictation well,
and repeats it back
when it reaches my pond.

I work for tips and
live for uncatered advice
I can serve my self.

fine dining without the atmosphere.

crack by crack
nature reclaims
my patio.
a few in this
awareness are not
surprising. it’s the
fissures that open
you to distraction.

all is derivative.
to find an exception
is indeed,
a find.

gray sky everywhere
softens the trees that
intrude it.
neutral background,
better for hanging my
mind’s art.

what is more relentless:
our ordinary minds or
our ordinary clocks?
guess, it really makes
no difference,
same springs
wound tightly.

lighted beer signs…
why do we have to advertise
for what is already desired?
more useful would be flashy signs for
root canals and enemas.
of course, both need beer.

asked to collaborate on a project,
one mused to his self, ‘hey,
that’s my problem:
competent internal committees
still efficiently keeping it all
together’.

didactic finger,
all joints swollen
with confidence.
pained inferences
at the point.

sunburned affectations,
too low SPF,
all bare pretenses
surprisingly left
my nudist camp.

privacy:
considering that you
need a place for your self
to fill.
better it be occupied with underwear
and old socks.
needed at most, an overnight bag for your privates.

whatever you do,
improvise–

it’s a secret mating dance
to call apparent ‘real self,’
(or snipes,
can’t remember which).

pleased countenance
covers one’s host of faces,
all mugging for recognition,
none facing its doubt
with penetrating looks.

inward deliberate stepping
into wholeness
is the way.
ideogram, beckoning.

coasting swiftly downhill,
I sure hope there’s wind,
for my mind is flapping.

just focus.
that’s all.
not on anything particular
except,
the closest verb.

piano lessons long ago.
yet only now he now hears the 104
notes on his apple keyboard,
(occasionally in tune).

forget the big questions.
‘how do you continue in
ways displeasing to yourself?’
is massive enough for
daily bench pressing.

(course, there are also portable benches
for the mobile would-be-toned.)

screw the smiley faces,
he wants man-sized content
in his literary take out.
of course, needless to say, and
unequivocally, he wants it now.
without any delay… you know…
but, still really filling, and all that…

all I can say is that ‘our
computers are down,’ and then
smile.

a lingering dream of flight
and freedom.
most alarm clocks, alas,
unwound and mute.

most minds are perfect-bound,
though spiral allows much more
flexibility,
and you just don’t have to deal
will all the glue.
regardless, sizes still come
standard.

the yard must be grateful
for the dog gifts.
no unwrapping
required.

a bird cry–
is all birds’ cry,
and no bird’s cry.
sounds so slight
can cue the Leap.

soft barefoot strides
new green sneakers
Air Mosses.

some anecdotes
aren’t antidotes.
but why else?

don’t waste energy blocking
distractions.
just open the other side and
let ‘em pass through.
I find the breeze has a good
sweeping action.

a block of ink, calligraphy brush, and
a computer.
quick strokes onto keyboard,
brush/body moving as one,
surprise after surprise up on the screen.
space between keys
soon all filled up with art.

dogs pushing on swinging door.
springs are against them.
timing is everything,
except when time can’t make
it through, either.

days blend
yet detail still bright.
time crawls from
glance to glance,
dwelling on the
small points.

more than being aware of awareness,
the woven mindscape creates all awareness,
and spells out the secret in vast letters
for all to see.

beer-conversation.
getting us back to both
oceans, with giggles.

our friend’s ‘action or thinking of action.’
is a vast lever to use against the pedestal of mind.
(he expected us to push hard enough
to get the point).
–you know /wedged in place under that dang thing.

now cats into turf fight.
all that howling over where
you can spray.
I save any howls for how
funny it is to consider
how my mind might pee.
……hmmm, maybe that
explains that distinct
wetness over there, where
I just let my awareness sit.

don’t expect to fly like a bird.
let birds fly like birds.
co-pilot your own awareness,
flying with a bird’s absence
of expectation.

look or see,
hear or listen.
language clues
visible through
clear book bags.
sitting so far back
in the class,
have to call on
yourself.
attendance sheet,
all zeros

keeping a buzzard circling
in your brain will inspire
you not to take too many
slacker breaks.
(even attempting to
conceive such will speed
up one’s pace out of the|
desert).

if you doubt that thinking
is physical,
then just try to think faster.
you can only think as fast
as you speak, regardless of
your mental lap time.

quick, take this end
I’ll take the other.
make a wish.

rainbow,
tastes like chicken,
harder to
catch.

ubiquitous guard rails
saying, no need to wreck here.
no impediment for
careening mind.

why one not an other?
as you think on this,
synapses lose their grip,
and possible connections,
forfeited.

pepper cap screwed askew,
but tight.
so many minds
cross-threaded with
an understanding universe.

I don’t hide behind
these words, veiled
though some be.
more readily, all is flung
at the kitchen wall,
and what sticks, is done.

squiggles left hanging
on their flimsy conjunctions,
still steaming.

sometimes perplexity
will serve as a limbic prod,
a ‘come hell or high water’
determination to find  resolution.

I write but
there seems no separation
of subject and predicate.

brief reality 1, grammar 0

heavy yellow equipment.
mind digging hole, which
for now, it cannot escape.
no more leaning
on your shovel, you gotta
keep that thing contained.

it really is a personal war
against seriousness.
even those jovial sorts
get serious sorts of jovial.

the ivy and the honeysuckle
convene to see who will lock the gate
in their embrace.
a dog leap answers.

hand gestures bridge a gap
between our communicating
mind and our body–
that is not there.
it’s just that we are deaf to
our own tells.

pond silting in.
a few crowded fish.
fat raccoon.

damp irony.
ordinary minds,
much silt,
yet never filled in.
water stolen
from foggy creeks
to cover shallowness.

sitting by the path to the old logging road,
one marvels at the pace of the mountain.
this ground once flat under sea, then lifted, now
easing gradually, piece by piece into the valley.
the shear leveling of life.
yet to slide down into metaphor would be
a defacing of a natural slope of closeness.

too much reliance on tools–
my inclined plane keeps
falling down on the job.
where is the simplicity
that blame hides again?

shedding upon one’s keyboard
bits of distributed human stuff,
every moment a stirring up and
casting forth–
mostly dust, skin, hair and used breath,
the immediate and necessary recycling
of selves until that very last dumpster dive.
in between, we reach out and pull
various clouds into stylized positions,
(proud of our impact on the thoughts of man),
while beseeching the wind to cease.

now to see that we are that stirring, illiterate wind.
and only that.

skunks occasionally rely
on aimed tincture,
but then, there are the goats–
aimless wallows of hormonal
smells, self-peeing
refreshment of pugnacious
airs.
mildly, who am I to
contrast our own
repellant and attractant
effluviums?

life adjacent to a dead end street.
all that enters,
absorbed into
pure neighborhood.