Tuesday, February 28, 2017

1537







"Fifteen Thirty-Seven"









Monday, February 27, 2017

1536







"Fifteen Thirty-Six"









Sunday, February 26, 2017

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Friday, February 24, 2017

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

1530







"Plain Geometry"
(neither ugly nor beautiful)
nondescript/lackluster









Monday, February 20, 2017

1529




Republican Victory

Dean Young


In the field, the complex snowmen
have been kicked apart. Some had used
the familiar scarecrow matrix,
others were dead inside, cloned
like modern clocks.

Someone has squeezed the tube out.
Someone has broken the lever off.

I bet this deflated football was a pancreas.
Was it a question of oxygen to the brain?
Here's a whole family: sad.

Soon this field will be hash-marked again,
tackling dummies in formation.
My hands are cold.

At some point, I gave up my youthful
dreams of robotics, of handling toxic substances
with remote control arms. Soon 
there will be robots small enough 
to enter the bloodstream but probably
too late for you and me.

Have you ever looked down
upon your laid-open self and felt
only mildly abashed, foreshortened,
unsequestered, wind in your ears?

That's when the people of the future
contact me with a song
that's actually a series of beeps because
that's what music has become for them,
the people of the future.

Some of their faces are sewn together wrong
so it looks like their pigtails are too tight.

I wish they could tell us all we've done
hasn't come to naught although to them
naught might not be all that bad,
no acid rain, no gapper's block,
where even the homeless can find a home
or at least in theory.

But these thoughts, I'm told,
are but junk mail in a maelstrom
to the people of the future.

They wear shiny visors.
They have beer that glows.
They have rivers that glow.
They'll never forgive us.











Sunday, February 19, 2017

1528







They'll never forgive us.









Saturday, February 18, 2017

1527







They have rivers that glow.









Friday, February 17, 2017

1526







They have beers that glow.









Thursday, February 16, 2017

1525







They wear shiny visors.









Wednesday, February 15, 2017

1524







But these thoughts, I'm told,
are but junk mail in a maelstrom
to the people of the future.









Tuesday, February 14, 2017

1523







I wish they could tell us all we've done
hasn't come to naught although to them
naught might not be all that bad,
no acid rain, no gappers' block,
where even the homeless can find a home
or at least in theory.









Monday, February 13, 2017

1522







Some of their faces are sewn together wrong
so it looks like their pigtails are too tight.








Sunday, February 12, 2017

1521







That's when the people of the future
contact me with a song
that's actually a series of beeps because
that's what music has become for them,
the people of the future.









Saturday, February 11, 2017

1520







Have you ever looked down
upon your laid-open self and felt
only mildly abashed, foreshortened,
unsequestered, wind in your ears?









Friday, February 10, 2017

1519







Soon
there will be robots small enough
to enter the bloodstream but probably
too late for you and me.









Thursday, February 9, 2017

1518







At some point, I gave up my youthful
dream of robotics, of handling toxic substances
with remote control arms.









Wednesday, February 8, 2017

1517







My hands are cold.









Tuesday, February 7, 2017

1516







Soon this field will be hash-marked again,
tackling dummies in formation.









Monday, February 6, 2017

1515







Here's a whole family: sad.









Sunday, February 5, 2017

1514







Was it a question of oxygen to the brain?









Saturday, February 4, 2017

1513







I bet this deflated football was a pancreas. 









Friday, February 3, 2017

1512







Someone has broken the lever off.








Thursday, February 2, 2017

1511







Someone has squeezed the tube out.









Wednesday, February 1, 2017

1510







Some had used
the familiar scarecrow matrix,
others were dead inside, cloned
like modern clocks.