if there wasn't this
there would be nothing.

and there is . . .

infant sees the hospital walls of future
infant smells the possible

baby crawls to knee high synagogues
baby cries to tired demigods

child . . .
look at your feet
you've messed them in the mud of fables

go now . . .
wash your feet

and play

Freedom fighters
Fight thumb wars
Win bigger thumbs
Need bigger hands
To run arms races
Up their shoulders
To fight their faces

Corporations eat their feet
Fall on their knees
Chew up their knees
Crawl on their thighs
Swallow their thighs
Fall on their balls

Life is a parody
of Life itself
Death is the punchline;
The ultimate health

Heaven is knowing
what the Hell it all means
Hell is a paradise;
a sleeping daydream

I am a robot
Free as the wind
Earth is a boardgame
Everyone wins

God is a cockpit
There is no plane
Poems about life
Could drive you insane

to be awake
and smiles

a self contained continent of Self
for the waters to wash up on
with their wisdom and salty animals

sunk in their beginnings
for a time
until they learn to laugh
like the landscapes above

who grin every color
through the teeth of time
who do not repeat
who do not deplete

and the ocean grows feet
and walks among the streets
that no one built
and everyone walks

and centuries solidify
in a smiling sky