One By One

One sound word.
A lone piece,
To serve a need.
No more.
For all past
Is add on.
Wind talk.
Serves not a soul
But those with
A want to
Be known.

Keep it chilled.
Make your point.
Let it stand,
If it can,
Bare, for all
To run by
Their self.
For what worth
Is a point lost
To your need
To sound smart,
To show off
All the big words
You know.

In plain talk,
Strong show of thought.
More folk on board
With your brand,
Your plan,
Your flow.
In short,
Much less lost,
More wide,
In the know.

Inevitable Variables

2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.
Just write.
In moment thought
Is fine,
Of course.
From where,
If not the mind
Come ideas?
What’s the source?
Collective, communal, consciousness?
Zeroes and ones -
A pre planned program,
Fated down the to the finest fractal?
Maybe just parameters,
Room to create around the inevitable,
The unchangeable
Plotted points in time.
Something like
Improvised
Jazz,
Or my getting to rhyme this as I like,
This inevitable point.
Or
Toothies,
Treatise,
Fo’thys,
Depending on the numbers
Of visitors -
Within bounds, variables.
But,ultimately,
You’ll make the tea,
The play,
Observation,
Display to others
As if it was all yours,
This, streaming, slightly lagging connection.
Only for the making
Of the last line
To remind you,
Since it begun,
It had to end,
Some time,
As all should,
Does.
So, as in,
Out I must
Count myself
And stress not
To make a fuss -
As with all bike rides,
The ventured way
Is the returned one
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

Differing Existence

Influence the wiggle
Of the string
In the dot,
See it change form.
But, if not,
Rather if, of it
You lose track,
You may never
See it back,
Now interdimensional traveller.
Parallel jumper,
Recombobulated in some other place,
A time and space shifter.
Silt like sediment sifted
Onto a whole different existence,
A place of polarized physics,
Beyond even our comprehension,
Intuitively confusing.
Yet to our atom friend
Just another way of being,
Another variable of reality.
Astonishing.

Piece Master

Some days I’ve a steadier hand than others,
So sometimes I end up producing
Wibbly wobbly wonders,
Some a symmetrical little number.
Sometimes I’m so shook up
All I produce,
Months on,
Is so abstruse
That it could be viewed
In no use.
But to think such is wrong
For only time put in
Begets experience.
It takes a few duds
To create the bomb.
In commitment
The masterpiece.
So please,
Artiste,
Truck on.
If not for yourself
Then for our cultures good health.