poetry

Sh[ape]s

There’s really nothing more than the shapes of

humanity inte-

grating with the music of

rap-

idity: also frightening velo-

city: yet in the terror of these times we find the com-

bin-

action of virtual rubbishing and

catering to tastes of all such kinds, re helming

minds of choice I mean: no freedoms left it seems,

and yet, even then, hope

re-

main-

streams our de-

sires into re-

al re-

birt-

h.

 

 

I used to love speed so much; I used to drive so fine; I uzed

my machines as obvio-

us ex-

tensions of my pass-

ions – whirling scientifical-

ly inside my breath like great twirling sex.

 

And now, more curiously, I just watch and reflect

and sit and dissect: out of love, under-

stand me: but don’t stand me

up.

 

 

And in shapes we ape what our ancestors did from

rocky cave to cave: a resistance to a brut-

all world: a love of be-

auty: a fight to lite-

ral death, casually ap-

plied and processed by life, and yet we continue

to find beauty in life.

In all its forms and shapes we ape.

In everything we see.

 

Now ain’t that right –

and good?

 

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