Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dancing in the Dead Zone


Dancing in the Dead Zone L. Edgar Otto 11- 17 -09

Given the proper awe and respect
as if the creation worthy of a Creator
We could have foreseen the dance of chromosomes
the shielded logic in the cell nucleus
We who can speculate competently without caution
weigh the wonder and philosophic implications
Unlike those who work lies, don't mention truth, dole out and meter
what was in abundance free, an allowance of wisdom

Thantos is not a certain bogeyman nor
where worlds touch the womb full with the soon stillborn
Our chances, our universe of body and mind, that
something goes wrong with the micro choreography, self-destructs
Know you not we're not the only ones who dust the clouds for precious water?

* * *

As if the galaxy, the Lord's own cyclotron, iron whiskered crystal frozen
does not touch the smallest mote of light
Closed scriptures by approximations, imperfection idolized
the universe itself the Dark Demon with his gods and idols
False prophets and legions of Anti-Christs, a dead zone
You with tenuous faith in experiment question rationality
To which you may be blind in your magician's choice to truth free in perfection
the inner law of fantasy reasonable in itself and replete
With our humanity you cannot wish away- so do.

We domesticated or wild animals, rusty machines de trope
while some want to bring back, rebuild capital squandered.
Manufacturing more than leaded wine and drunkard's infertile dreams

The dance is one of joy in the dancing more than chance alone
The cosmic code, design, justice in equifinality built beyond struggle

* * *

What persists longer in our memories, the color
of Lover and passion, finds spiral reels, soundtracks for
Our soul and dreams, learning new birth more than engrams
written in meaningless cadences, artlessly inserted dust

Our tunes familiar, understood, simple within our hearts
but seem complex so as to enjoy, suspending disbelief
So we full of tunnels and black holes not lords of our knowing, our own hearts
our egg teeth breaks the bucky bunny balls easier from within

How else does and old song evoke the vaporous scent of memory?
How else our lingering selves make new and wider thoughts and words?
Or the scandalous early pain if we dare see it, relive and bear it
not end time crumbling cause spent colors, but stimulated to self-repair, heal

This work said business of the young and old- and the tightrope of the center
Our unwinding braids with tails live longer, makes life smarter, stronger

* * *

You ask, baiting, yet no philosopher left with your who really cares
For your checkered game board, forgotten passions, bottleneck obsolete epiphanies.

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