Was it a golden age

of freedom of a certain kind

and were we then the lucky ones

the unchained, in my terms?

The next utopia may be rich and sweet

a virtual paradise perhaps

and honeycombed with images but

from which there is no escape

no vantage point

or cold light of day.

From restless souls are we come

from buccaneers with fast boats

their oak planks...

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As I watch them in the park

spry old couple, ninety odd

hearts re-bored and tooled up

with walking, hearing, seeing aids

a twinkle even in the eye

leaning close, holding hands

these taller, longer-living things

our ever-lengthening DNA string

she blushes, he grins, I wonder who

we must thank?

The gentleman scientist medicine man?

Pioneer, fingering his wai...

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a thought came
twirling down
from a graying November tree,
one of the last to fall,
announcing,

'look at all my crusts of death,
and answer me.

--bipeds of clay,
do you doubt when
howling winds, ice, and snow
embalm
our root to rock,
that Spring will squeeze
out of us
baby buds again?

for each change
the wintertime will become warm,
the dark will lift,
the lawns will need a...

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The winds of change are blowing over the hills and storm clouds gather with momentum

For a moment we stand on the bridge

And look at the torrent below us

We observe the destruction caused by the gale

Before taking shelter under the bridge

Like transients we pick meat from a carcass

On a polystyrene tray

I dream of the archer and Aphrodite

Making out to the sound of tubular ...

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Now nearly at the cusp of finding logic to the dare

With expended all vigor and resources in despair

Past forte banked upon has since proven wrong

Heart though persistent, head tells to move along

Most of earlier envisaged is contrarily turning about

Staunchest of old values now cast many a doubt

Notwithstanding abilities, I feel isolated and prone

Stifled...

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