Month: June 2016

COOK IES A ND MILK June

| heyjimmy3d

I have such disdain for your opinion
And yet relish and have joy in your existence.
A robot with a dead battery
could not want you more.
Yes I know what I am saying.
That there are two of me.
One who is a sedan
And one who is a snow sled.
A Red wagon full of hand tools I am, at the same time.

Crayons, library paste, Lavender, Clover.
Songs of weasels, mulberry bushes,
And blind mice
Are in this long deep dream
Which you have
Accidentally, while dancing, spun around and knocked me into.

I have such relish for your disdain
And yet joy in the existence of your opinion.
Like a dead robot wants a battery,
I want to know you more.
Yes you know what I’m not saying.
That there are two of us,
And if I hand you back a hammer
As I lean forward
It will balance us as you lean back.
We cling to the same sideboard of the same carriage.

Pencils, rubber cement, Rosemary, Thistle.
Songs of blind mice, muffins and farmers,
And rings around roses
Are in this short sharp dream
Into which you have
Accidentally, while dancing, spun around and knocked me.

Twelve (It’s Time To Stop) 6/9/16

| heyjimmy3d

My favorite word,
one and two,
a dozen.
Also a favorite.
Eggs, right?
Donuts, bagels, cookies, right?
When someone says out loud, “Twelve”
you don’t think of anything
but a number:
12.
That many,
all ten fingers,
and two more.
–Plus one, yay!
A baker’s dozen!
Because bakers know how to count donuts, bagels, and cookies.

Six twice.
Once, twelve times.

Around the clock.

How many other numbers are so stricken?
Well, all of them,
twice a day.
But striking twelve has the ominousness,
The impending.
The marking of an important moment.
The High Noon.
Midnight. Exactly. Struck.
Twice a day, but a different name for each time.

There’s another: ‘Twice’.
But if I had a second chance to have a favorite word…
It might be ‘third’.
Third would be first
And twice would be third,
because twelve would be second.

I pretty much like all the names of all the numbers.
Cardinals. Red pointy-headed birds.
So many birds.
9,956 species.
Nine thousand, nine hundred and fifty six.

But twelve
makes me think of
elves.
Not twelve elves.
No.
Two elves.
One elf
Struck in twain.
From 1,
2.
By mathemagical science.
Adam and Eve.

And ‘twain’
Lordy, that’s right up there, too.
Mark my words.

I could go on,
because of all the numbers, but
I’ll stop now. For a while.

Downstream 6*9*16

| heyjimmy3d

I hope you have learned something, my little brother,
I know you are smart.
And striving to know more.
I think you are learning how to
Discount love.
To unknow it.
To learn
To discern, my dear sister, the difference
From in love.
And love.

Taken up are we,
when young,
and swept along,
by the tides of
Pride, Fear, and hormones.
Wishes, dreams and swoonery,
The Need for achievement and conquest.
To compensate for what you have been told
you are not
and don’t have.
Sparkles and shadows,
All noble, and nasty,
lovely, dark, crazy, desirable shiny dirt.
As they stand apart, as pillars of sugar and salt and sand.
In the Tent of Our Notions.

Even without wind and rain they dissolve.
Let alone the clot and rot of regular weather.

Some live on higher ground
not needing the nutrients and activity
of the flood plain.
So they are fine with these items as filthy useless bulwarks
against the high water.

Your next twelve cab rides are on me.
But then you have to pay your own way.
And for awhile, then, remain where you are
as your heart grows back
and you become a human.

Then,
and then, and from then on,
we shall tread, as friends,
my arm on your shoulders,
your arm around my waist,
along the precipice
of the riverbank
of caring.

Got in Late, Got Up Early. Went To Church..

| heyjimmy3d

Good Sunday morning! And welcome!
Now I would like to read for you some random text:

“The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.”
― Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion

But, alas. His son was such a good man.
No wonder he killed him.

Stand, kneel, sit, stand, sit, kneel. Sit, stand, shake hands. Beg! Rollover! Good boy! Good girl!

Please join us for some damn good Bloody Marys (yeah, that Mary) in the church hall after the service.

Proceeds benefit the Sisters of Reluctance and RABBI (Reparations for Altar Boys Because of Insincerity).

Amen. Go in peace. Hope you make it home before the game starts. Say hi to your mom for me.