Monday, December 30, 2013

Perfection of 'Droid

English my handmaiden, always very close at hand,
I write from her cuff, always ready with bated breath, knowing,
knowing next words make or break her heart, listening ever so close.

'Droids die, but do they dream of electric sheep? - I think not.
They await my finger's trace across screen with alpha taps.
They dream not, but wait, second upon second, for galvanics'...

galvanics' static trance of electrons making exchange with the world,
the world literally at hand, even at fingertip(s), also bated, but empty.
"Empthy" they are, as I remember my dad playing chicken with the gauge.

English my handmaiden, from day near one, guineas cackling uphill nearby when
the eldest, my sister the Wiccan, tossed my infancy into the creek to dog paddle back,
but I tread water, delighted, cool in the heat of my new beginning also

also at her hand who cut the cord from around my neck before first breath,
before first breath long before touch of 'droid, and exhale, calm, watching...,
even then, not looking or longing for shoreline, comfortable in my element,

'droid and water, tools at either hand, English my real handmaid to be sure,
...not the eldress.

--RK, 8:51pm, 12/30/2013

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Poker Face

     Inspired by Lady Gaga, 'nuff said


Long practiced, they see nothing of me, unknowing.
As hard as I've tried, it's not my poker face.
So, awonder, I don't understand from here.
Nothing I can do, I've tried it all, every tack.

Still, I'm invisible, indivisible, indistinguishable,
undistinguished from their dark corners,
bright places they've never seen of life within,
the only place of life's light, unseen of them.

Their poker faces harder than carborundum,
'promise' of graphene hard aheel, tracing,
tracing cut lines across my countenance unseen,
never to be seen, though I've tried all my life

watching multitudes stumble around in steel of dark.

--RK, 10:37pm, 12/11/2013

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Respite

Sometimes I pick a horse. They all know me well.
It's okay, he knows we won't ride wild, but elated.
It's okay, we know where we're going, don't worry.
Let the tears flow, it's okay. It's just that way.

My horses know me well, they don't mind
when I want to take a side trail of rejoicing,
deep sadness or great joy along the way.
We know the way well, trodden often.

At trail's head, I sit by the tree, tears rolling.
Deep joy and high sadness reign in time,
while I sigh and slowly pant, respite needed,
needed badly in this world of nothing...

...nothing but inanity, insanity, propaganda,
truth left completely alone, waiting sedately,
ready for the last trump, when all becomes clear
on that last day when all is done when they,

when they thought it would go on forever...

--RK, 7:59pm, 12/8/2013