8.9

And it's when the earth rumbles and the seas part that people begin to think ... Oh my God why?
But we don't think when the flowers blossom or when babes cry, oh my God why?
Or when the people chant and sisters embrace, oh my God why?
The dragonflies in wonderment keep the children of the ghetto lakes,
Oh my God why?
Hearts filled with love and lust, embracing in warm ecstasy...
Oh my god why?
Combusting into spontaneous song and dance
Oh my god why?
For my brothers and sisters,
Oh my God why
For the beauty and the beast,
Oh my God why.

Repetitive Eye Movements

Last night I had an apocalyptic dream. Streams of blinded people floated aimlessly about, carrying handfuls of legumes and noodles trying to find their way to the center of the earth. I opted to head upstream instead, and sat in front of a large white canvas that bellowed ever so slightly; a frantic sail in a feeble wind. Images of plastic families with Astroturf lawns appeared every few seconds, slowly melting in the increasing heat. They walked away from the sun, driven by fear, afraid to live in the heat, afraid to die from it. They stood before each other with dark melting glances, afraid to intertwine their nimble fingers with their loved ones and their lovers. Afraid give come within a breath’s distance of one another and wrap their arms around for one last embrace goodbye; each physical contact causing their limbs to melt and meld together like melted crayons on the sidewalk. They became an act child play for nature then, arranged ever so methodically, by shape, by color, by dispensability; left to become nothing more than plastic puddles…