Consummate Consumer

Don't leave the table feeling full.
A sense of lingering hunger aids digestion.

Desire neither wealth nor luxuries,
nor be self glorified in your display of modesty.

Wish not for death nor seek to live one breath beyond
what might well be pre-appointed.

Seek to understand nature
and appreciate your place in her.

Be compassionate to all flesh
and forgiving of all souls.

The above is the consumer's prayer,
the way of the pacifist.

The Finale of Desire

Every thrust eventually downgrades,
and the acceleration behind them lags.
Slow slows to slower, and slower slows to halt.
This too is what Big Bang is about.

Every expansion eventually peaks,
and peaks downhill slope.
Avalanches and glaciers slow down to grind.
There's gonna be terminal points,

From terminal, perhaps, then reversal.
Logic seems to indicate, there's gotta be end to desire,
because the progression is order to disorder,
and then, perhaps, nothingness.
next comes nothingness.

Lady Fein

Mine mind's eye traces the contours
of your high born cheeks
invitingly glowing they are,
they do, they make me wanna wince.

Think me not rude, I pray forgive me.
Your high born cheeks remind me
of that other stately canvas,
I am in the mist of painting.

Your high born cheeks,
are like your global buttocks,
firm and round. Your neck, my dear,
is the neck of Samson's barber.

Again, do not think me fast.
Yep, I'm a monk, I am, I am.
At least, I think I am. More over,
I'm a painter first!

Long Drag on a Short Haul

Where eye focuses, there eye climbs.
Eye buzzes with bees, I am not shy.
My nose is pollen smitten,
'cause mouth has tasted the rip of honey.

Eye sees clouds. Eye sees birds.
Eye flocks with them.
Flight of weeks makes no difference to us princesses.
Flight of years shows little reverence to us witches.

Only moment matters to us and caterpillar.
We Sisterhood dream Life while Life dreams us.
Life and us, we play a duet. We of double wide feet
fit for walking the sole migrations of soul retreats.

Left foot first, right foot follow.

Mother Naughty

Day in, day out in garden spaces;
between columns set by Italian cypresses,
through ivy gates into darker garden rooms,
I observe that nature is indeed a woman .

In ferns thirsting morning dew, in hot house blooms,
in sprigs, coils, thorns and Spanish moss hung low,
nature is unceasing incantation and sudden evocation,
Mother Nature is a witch for sure.

From spiraled arm sun; spring, summer, autumnal,
wind-driven weather and mayhem pollination
even upon parched and frozen ground,
botany thrives, botany sex abounds.

P=H

When birds sing excitingly
is it out of happiness or satisfaction?

What is the difference?

If happiness is satisfaction,
then unhappiness must be dissatisfaction.

When babies coo, they express satisfaction,
When they fuss we know they are discomforted.

Therefore, the state of happiness in infants
represents a zone of comfort.

Expectations fulfilled, usually, bring happiness.
Expectations frustrated, usually, result in depression.

The pursuit of happiness --- now there's a good one.

Can one be happy if one lacks privacy. It seems to me
that privacy is fundamental to the attainment of happiness.

But how to pursue happiness and capture it?
Devise a plan that is simple.

Generally speaking,
simpletons are happy campers.

This Year

Mark should spend a year in hell for every week
Gwendolyn lived a miserable marriage two months long to date.

If Mark had any manhood left, he'd suicide, an honorable, thing to do
for one who committed adultery on honeymoon .

On the other hand, is not suicide a cowardly out.
You turned the virgin a shrew, now bear her till death do you part.

To suicide or not has little to do with courage, Mark, but rather the desire
to not inconvenience others to have to dispose of your cadaver.

And yet does not society in general deserve the inconvenience?
And is not Mark Furstman not deserving of the melodrama he'd be spared to witness?

These are valid and ethical questions, Mark, but what the hell,
you might as well keep on living.

Somewhere, someday, somehow,
punishment, repentance redemption awaits us.

You bet

January lies on manscape as on the landscape
skeletal and bare, yet bee neath the warmth of mulch piled high,
worm does not fret that earth is colder than when Eve was tricked
by tape long stranger, and Adam broke fruit dropping into waiting earth,
evil seed that would root forever.

January is like a barren womb, yet still
coils of would be green dream of belfry awakenings,
Sun to ring new heat, old heat that makes the continents
and oceans, too, spin kaleidoscopic, silver shekels to the bride,
her bonnet she let flies, she unbridled relieved of garter and of girdle.