QUANTUM OCEANEERING

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After years of grouping little bits into place

it first occurred to me

while vacationing in the French Riviera

central mechanisms would connect

when expected to switch.

 

Courses at MIT

and the Atlanta School of Solemn Mechanics

could not have prepared me

for microwave overload

tinkering with random thoughts always

activates loose memories

takes hours to unscrew

tightness from astringents

and in-capacitors

preferring to twist resistors

until their transmitters overheat

and their diodes blow.

 

Never had too many

loose tanning oils to contend with

sunstroke will sometimes cause cancer

cooling fans always run at full speed

in case I have to tackle waves

you do understand

when blue water hits the beach

the silicone crystals in the sand

vibrate at the same frequency

as the unknowns in your head

processors always blink

millions of lights

on and off

message’s you can’t afford to miss

even when wearing your speedo

or thong bikini

or nothing at all.

You do understand now, don’t you?

 

GRANDPA

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With his brittle bones

and his sun cracked face

he rode near ‘bout every mile

of the round-up trail.

 

He licks the wind

and stares out at nothing

tobacco dripping lip, spits.

Hell, I fought the sun,

and I won

fought a sneakin’ coyote once,

he lost.

Broke rattlesnakes in half

between bare hands.

Got caught in the drought of the Tulsa ride, too.

 

Thought I’d die in that damn burning desert

never have I thirst, so much

for one wet drop.

They found me about four miles from Breakers Pass.

Eighteen-ninety-seven,

that was my last long ride.

Too many damn city boys

tryin’ to run the drive.

 

And now my grandson drives off

in that noisy pick-up.

He’ll never know the dry taste

of sand and grainy dust

between your teeth.

Wind kicking in your face

like a thousand angry hoofs

punched in your mouth.

 

And my friend,

cold black night.

 

Damn all this fancy fiddle.

THE MACHINE KILLED CREATIVITY

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The machine killed creativity.
I saw it for myself.
It bludgeoned all artistic strides
and massacred the rest.

Musicians first, were bound to atoms
then cast down to synthesize.
Pouncing notes on wired keyboards
for light waves to analyze.

Painters great, were also slaughtered
by brushes of true bits.
Destined for their graphic tabs
and bland electric teats.

Sculptors once again were chained
by circuit boards and digits
building funky little trites
of solder, wire, and widgets.

Writers were then gathered up
and tortured by their software
making acronym of literature
while cleansing hard drives bare.

Movie folks were also brandished
and scattered without vision
destined for the rerun click
from the mouse of indecision.

Poets, whom of course were last
bore out the worst derision
they were left with but a hint
of electric mysticism.

The machine killed creativity.
It will show you no remorse.
Keep your wafers powered up
to wait the next resurgent force.