Untangling

The mess of reality cannot be unknotted to explain

From one perspective, or even many,

Those fundamentals that,

Like a friendly cat,

Follows at a suspicious distance

Mewing in appetite

For what everything is doing.

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Stew pidities or bake them like a pie

Can sometimes make them tasty

But, to generalize about surprise,

The exercise of philosophy is a yeast

That can rise atmospherically towards

Outer space in empty disgrace

To evade in mystery and sophistry

Any worthwhile solutions for the chase.

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So, like ants that follow sugar trails to that trap

Of death and dissolution, that final ablution

May scissorize away a vague possibility or two

To silence that faithful feline mew,

But that endless treasure of ignorance will donate

Endlessly

To delicious confusions of curiosities of mind.

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It is satisfaction to accept we each are

Worms wiggling on the hook of existence

That await that final fish.

The Life Of Pattern

The brain, of course,

Cannot be divorced

From the entirety of something alive,

Any more than a thumb makes sense

Without a hand.

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One must become aware that

The life of life is a staircase of

Ascending complexities.

No individual cell can be derided as criminal,

Just as a flat tire cannot be cured by

Punishing an automobile with a whip,

Or isolating it for a decade to contemplate

Some way to think its way out of a puncture.

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The cockeyed Kantian delusion that each of us

Retains within corrective mandates for perfection

Neglects to conceive that what each believes

Is fabricated out if minds experientially designed

To survive, to fit circumstance of random chance

That might dance a peaceful waltz of delight

Or rush into insane hates to counter nasty fates.

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We are the servants of ideas that live to constrain

The battlefield of the brain and manage what we can

To perform what each of us may decide is a norm.

Our instruments of decision can be a lollipop or a revolver

To domesticate this mad universe and be the solver

To becalm the torrential thunderstorms wherein we live.

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The gift of life unwrapped is always tied to final termination,

Each of us is a brief twinkle of a star in a cloudy night.

It is senseless to delude ourself with the fantasy of eternity

Where the totalitarian second law searches towards democracy

That graces the ultimate design wherein total simplicity is in reign.

The Check Is In The Male

The meannesses of penises in love with guns and swords

Have been allocated honors and monetary rewards

In neglect of most of women to their angry distresses

Where those just wearing dresses made replicants of both sexes,

Was low graded only to those who wore the pants, denying nexus.

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Though girls with curls who dance in twirls move in ways quite enticing,

Men on the make, make no mistake. are fascinated by the cake, not the icing

Wherein the bedtime wrestle, involving both the mortar and the pestle,

Gratified in that target slurp that DNA commanded with its final hug and nestle.

That delight is satisfaction to both engaged in action, but subsequence, to make sense,

Is something of a quandary to decide if this ride can be an end or a commence.

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To make this prequal equal to traditional demands of male and female fusions

Dependent on mutualities of mind designed to find concurrencies of conclusions,

It must engage far more than a direct one night score, but penetrate totalities,

Transformations that possess impunities of unities to meld the wonders of a join

Of two to one, a small fortress to defend immensities of love and respect against world

That would neglect and attack the essence that fabricates the fate to be alive.

Forsooth The Truth

Although gods come and gods go,

The welcoming of Pinocchio

Whose elevation does inspire

Superiorities of the powers

Possessed by a creative liar

Might be dismissed, disdained

As the passport

To Hell’s fire.

.

It must be granted

That a lie well planted

Can blossom into wealth and fame

Cosmeticize propinquities of delight

To evoke a war to generate their flag of might

To bring about that final, overwhelming night.

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Though silliness might like to play

With dynamite where decencies

Flee the scene to permit the wonders

To be mean, to satisfy with lightning’s flash

Out of thunderstorms of wrath.

Buzzing goblin lies that swarm like flies

Eager to feed  where death multiplies

Amidst the broken rubble blanketed in ash.

Nourishments from fractured skulls, bits of fingers,

Fogs of bloody smokes, where only rotting odor lingers.

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Our truths which guide the frailties of reason

Are fabricated from despair and doubts of what may be really there,

Spiced with probabilities of guesses that are in season,

The frangibles of the intangibles stuffed with suppositions

Garnered out of hopes and dreams to flower in the Springtime

Of theoretic everything to fade to seed the weeds of doubt

For the Winters of discrimination and a sharper look to surprise

That truth may merely be a fashion to satisfy a hope, a guise

That can evaporate, elucidate in fancy unbelievables to the wise.

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So where lies lies and where be truth may seem peculiar, most uncouth,

That fosters how that puppet’s nose can grow to fracture all we know

In these times where danger reigns in territories where nothing explains.

Pinocchio’s nose has touched the Moon to sniff out infinity with divinities

That reach Barsoom in unlikely investments to confront doom.

The Ghosts Of Suppositions

What has been may fade into charade

To require specialities of technologies

To resurrect persistence but eternity

Does not always entirely forget.

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There are majesties of wonder to be revealed

From a simple footprint on the Moon,

By a stone encased skull of a T Rex that demands

Appreciations of our forebears that echo ferocities

That we have cleverly replaced with insanities

That leap through space to demolish innocents

Halfway around the world imitating powers of a star.

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Shakespeare and Socrates still speak to wreak

Intelligence upon a civilization’s stumbling into

Vast jungles of deceptions and stupidities wherein

Prosper human beasts with reptile minds of insatiabilities

With most odd instabilities that seek total self-obliteration.

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The spectres of past speculations hover over our latest babble seas

That try to drown decencies of respect for each other.

These constellations for navigation with routes through

And past this turbulence may, perhaps, persuade this parade

To nullify its mad escapade to, hopefully, survive.

Nudger

To be clear, I really cannot say

Why I’m here or what I am

Which, after all, is the same

For anybody else to claim.

The why puzzle probably is mystic,

Perhaps something merely statistic.

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Mostly, you guys worry about breath,

This silly fuss, involving life or death,

As if this necessity involves guessity,

A random dance from chaotic chance

But I confess, I intervene.

Intent, quite often,

Can be mean.

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Theocratics, frequently have bats

That flap about, in their attics, but logic

Also, can be queer in quantum consternation.

The far and near can disappear from every calibration.

Darwin thought to make sense with evolution,

And his mankind claims some sort of zenith, quite funny,

With their nonsensical concern with money.

Bit still, I cannot deride,

Their ingenuities for suicide.

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So here I am, to manipulate intent with curiosity.

As Nietzsche noticed, it’s quite mad

To classify things good or bad.

The everything is simultaneous.

Nothing can be extraneous,

With rough and smooth

To make things tough, or to sooth.

A billion years, here or there,

Is no concern, since time provides

That everywhere all fuel will burn.

This really is

Of no concern.

Inspiration

Within the reign of rains of perceptions

That drowns and sabotages metaphoric perceptions

That click into place in pattern affectations to pace

Far faced resemblances in comforting associations

With doubleplaced quantomizations to birth

Creativities out of the implausibles from sparks

Of realities out of collisions with dancing quarks.

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The monstrous dragons ring of chaotic melodies,

Pluck harmonic strings that sing like bells of hells that symphonize

Disarrays of consequence, corrode familiar nodes of suppositions

To erupt cosmic quakes of galactic laughter about forever afters

That fade to dusty smokes of dead traditions, of vanished positions.

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The acrobatics of ecstatics that spins the outs and ins

Of acceptability to crack and splinter fore and hinter must shock

Solidities, banish assumptions that have decayed, betrayed to plague

The obvious of how and why and where totalities are here and there.

So truth is reformulated, newly garmented to address, for a while,

Currant solidities until the spill of new revelations require a change of style.                                        

Current Whizzdumbs

Assemblies of fabricated misconstruals,

Highways to convey the plastic jewels

Fabricated to deceive and herd the standard nerd

Toward reactions preferred by a social complex

Designed to direct humanity to deform itself

Into a domesticated norm to perform to enrich

The sonsofbitches that guide the reins of the brains

Of our species is now in full gallop into obliteration.

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No doubt this display is most spectacular, a theater

To enhance the turbulent emotions of some unknown

And presumed invisible audience that paid to be tickled

Into sighs and grins of appreciation, applauding with tentacles

To see the ups and downs of talented clowns mock insanities

In most unexpected ways far beyond presumed basics of rationalities.

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This is, of course, a theory of remorse, a cuckoo concept

To contain, to explain complexities of motivations to justify

In miasmatic thought to somehow untangle just how and why

This current zenith of my immensely clever kind could be induced

To toss away its potentials, drown in seas of the narcotics of cruelties,

Reduced to insectile viles that tempts one into smiles.

Precisions Of Deliberation

Invasions of the quasyfuzzies

Where freedom transmogrifies

To sips of cyanide to crush to dusts

The necessities of musts

Is not accidental.

It is planned.

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The what-the-hells

That ring the bells,

Buzz the buzzers to fabricate

The tidal waves of hate

That coruscate confusions,

Shitify their skyfulls of trifles

Stormclouding lies to satisfy

This age of rage and miseries

Contains no mysteries.

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The dragons of designs that perpetrate

The frustrations of monstrosities of vicious stupidity

Toast today with champagnes of delight the blights

Of hurricanes, of tornadoes, the pestilences of poisons

They sell at high price to stuff their coffers of inane finance

That can end only in Ozymandiastic eternity.

The Youngful Tongues Of Adventure

As querulous as the conscientious may be

In linguistic confrontations of conformity,

The ins and outs of conservative rages

Can fill infinite pages of wordful rages

That only blunt the dance of creativity.

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The twists and turns of grammatical consistency

Plague doubts that squids and mice communicate

In intricacies that challenge universes of odd intricacies

Far beyond the plods of human conventional tradition,

Since their inherent vocalizations of mousy squeaks

Can manage sonic tapestries in mousical vibrations

Far outside the abilities of the human sonic range

And their love songs sing in melodies of cosmical spheres

To the feeble orchestrations that cage human ears.

The squids, to speak in tentacular observations

Converse in rainbows striped and blossomed

On their skins, most cleverly conversational,

To leap through philosophies of colors that smile

And speculate in reds and blues and purple investigations

Wherein a  rather liquid view of aesthetics and ardor flashes

Far beyond the grammaticals of mere words that fumble

Over the fundamentals of raw perceptions such as vanilla,

Such as the simple color patterns in plaids, paisley or floral

Unconveyable to one born blind using the merely oral.

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Wittgenstein clearly realized that vocal lions would be a puzzle

Outside human comprehension since their orientation

Is alien, no surprise, to what we apish minds can grasp and analyze.

Discussing honey with a bee might find parallels to agree

But Shakespeare or Lewis Carroll leads one to see

The strict limits of possibility.

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To carry this one step beyond, in a life of self contemplation,

I find myself a creature incomprehensible, emplaced

Within a social universe  crisscrossed in perversities

Where lions and squids seem more sensible than what I see

Within myself, a labyrinth of collapsed probabilities

Well outside my most dexterous capabilities.