Ode to Picasso's Ageless Embrace

One fine

Chelsea morning

In May

Trekking along

The sunny side

We encountered

Yellow blossoms

Westerly we progressed

Placing a wisp or two

In the air

Behind the Christ Church

Drawn towards

A vision of

Late in life truth

I asked – do you remember –

Walking into

Gagosian first --

Standing in front of the

Blue black winged starling –

I asked if you could solve the riddle

Of the inner-most sanctum

And then we stumbled

And found ourselves

Before Theban gates

Reading a text

Chromatic

Of dream texture and

Pointing generally towards

Two spirits of single flesh

Oedipus and the Sphinx combined

In chalky Mediterranean light

A unifying vision of

The bicameral mind

Seen through the lenses

Of a compound eye

Cubism

To higher power

Brought

Beyond the

Limits of mere frame

Each image composed

Of constituent parts

Yet selves themselves

Wrought by

Greater devising

Onto another plane

So pictures form clusters

And clusters form vines

And in this way

The world in its entirety

Climbs and entwines

In the mind

Of the aging Master

Arthritic in his studio

but unsubdued

By spirit of sparagamos

deeply infused

While obsessively retracing

the steps of

Les pas a deux

Of contrasting pairs

Like Maestro

Emerging from

Behind the easel

Only to find Monstro

Standing proud

Upon the stairs

And in the Gallery last

Suggestive of

Valedictory task

The Iberian Adam

And his loose limbed madam

Disport in utter abandon

Grappling without repose

Let peace everlasting

Be good and be damned

For genius notwithstanding

There's not a moment to lose

For losing oneself

In heedless embrace

Thus reaching a place

Beyond understanding

Where we may discover

The imperishable truth

Of you residing in me

While uncovering as no less true

Me deep inside of you

From Whence the Urge Comes

One day while at play
Jack Dorsey suddenly
Felt distraught from
His good friends
Too long parted
Without knowledge
Of what path
They pursued

Through this labyrinth
He wielded labrys aloft
And with inner eye atwitter
He deftly brought forth
First thought of a network
At one stroke full formed
Of such enduring kind
Built on the glitter
Of social instinct

A status check
Around the net
To let each chime in
According her own means
About whatever she might be
Seeing and doing

From Athenian birth
Of this type
To prototype
Without pause or
Discouragement
Twitter soon outgrew
Obvious beginnings
Taking shape as
A mystery cult
Overleaping
All bounds
Celebrating
Species mastery
Over our own worst devices

Moment to moment
We worship in this
Virtual shrine
Perched atop
The world of clutter
Offering up libations
In a stream of perpetual chatter

Demoting and
Promoting the
The very need to speak
In manner both sublime
And ridiculous

From prologue to coda
140 characters at a time
We run the gauntlet
Of packet signals
Streaming to oblivion

Ode Composed on a Wireless Device

Fresh words unfurl
Out the front door
Down 28th Street
Two leashes in one hand
Moving westward
Briefly pausing for
The bend and the scoop
And the subsequent grasp
Of poop-bag deftly stashed

And the hurried return
To the representational task
Ever leaning leftward
Through midtown grid
By method oblique
With life-force inferred
From words overheard
In the street

Hey anybody got a cigarette
On 7th Avenue turn
To meet the next mind storm
As the nameless man complains
About the mosquito swarm

I’m like a crooked cop
On foot patrol of
Fame’s outer precinct
Prone to thievery
Of the sidewalk
Sights and sounds
And thus well grounded
By a steadying beat

With benign intent
But slightly indiscrete
Observant of the cleft
Mother tongue
And fingers adept
At wireless pit a pat

A walk around the block
Is far from a random thing
So filled with the sense
Of a positive return
Now an accomplished fact
Thoughts wrapping round
For the click and send
In six stanzas complete

--------------------------

Into the Polymer Sea

From Long Beach slip
The post-modern Magellan
Sails forth in fiberglass ship
Steering for the very heart
Of the Polymer Sea

Athwart the bow the midshipman
Stands on lookout for strange wonders
Boat hook in hand
Lancing into crystalline waters
Bringing forth baggies and bottle caps
And strands of a household mop
Splayed jellyfish style

Water so clear yet filled to the brim
With sun and salt bleached plastic
Stretching a thousand nautical miles
In the confluence of currents
Where blue whales once lazily sported

Longing to encounter a creature
By happenstance or selection
Fit to the niche
Of the plentiful Styrofoam bits
Oh Brave New World
So rich in appearance
Of discard broad on open waters
Rendered sterile and featureless

Thus Charles Moore journeys
Into the means of the end
Of the known world
Where plastic slowly loses its grip
Cajoled by wind and tide
Into diminishment

When comes the midshipman’s cry
At first sight of small atoll
A mere silicone fleck
In the sparkling sea
Dropping anchor and wading ashore
Moore proudly plants
Civilization’s flag on pristine strand
Only to discover beneath his feet
The blight once more

For the world entire on which he stands
Is Exxon’s answer to Murano glass
Crunching lively under tread while
Smoothed and shimmering
In South Pacific glare
He’s come aground
On thermoplastic
And so have we

In the Portland Hotel

In the Portland hotel
Feeling oh so fare thee well
Blowing smoke in our midst
We tumbled astraddle
Both one and another

And we rattled the bed
Making love with a twist
Until quite suddenly
The world took a sinister shift

Though we remained
Undaunted and only burrowed
Deeper into the sheets
As if centrifugal force
Drew us closer together
At last falling asunder
We found untroubled sleep

Thus coming into possession
Of unexpected bliss
Through an almost unnoticed
Rift in space-time
A moment quite
Unpretentious
And yet marked
By a deeper design

When energy without
The slightest warning
Embarked us on
A new path forward
Thus finding limerence
Through episodic reversal
And sea change besides

To which we in good turn
Would grow quite accustomed
Bringing forth a quantum
From the daily crumb
So that recto or verso
We’d get on with our lives
More deeply committed
To mundane tasks
Yet forever on the brink
Of the oracular