My Ageless Wonderfriend

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In all the vastness of this world
And the terrifying expanse of time
Will there be one, how could there be
To live and marvel and let it be?
Yet sincere belief has made it so
Eternity has you in an envelope:
Out of all time, charmed in wizardry
Prove my existence in this world

Raise me
Raise me to the saviour of your grace
Say where I could be your plaything
And hold me in the pureness of intent

I send my life in a loveletter to you
I want you to come and visit me when we’re dead
I’d hold a party now if I could
For all the ones I ever loved
But ah you, my starchild, could never come
For what’s between, that’s the world
And that’s a tinker’s cuss
That caused my wonderloss

Big Bang — Black Hole
“Oh my God, it’s full of stars . . .

Raise me
Raise me to the saviour of your grace
Say where I could be your plaything
And hold me in the pureness of intent

“Anywhere!”
You would smile and laugh
As I, beneath “wisdom”
Account myself to joy

A kiss on her forehead ~
I can smell my way in

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Three Face Music

The Outdoor Room

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We were terrified in a large outdoor room
Running with chaos and distraction
Cold and hot and wet and low
To hide we could not fit behind the tree
As the leaves they dropped to melt like acid

Our hearts went pounding through our heads
A screeching howl from deepest earth
A signal came flashing in our eyes
All was over and lost

The voices stemmed from an early age
Were they easy to keep track of
Dripped behind a veil of goodness?
As some bent overhead and whispered around
We lay on our side, held hard to roll

My heart went reeling with crashing noise
“Please tell me how I feel!”
The super-structured decliner
Has taken me over and lost

There were lucid moments of flowered display
We spun the dew across the surfing sulphur sea
The levels crept up as human flying fish
Began leaping where sharks were gnashing
Now trees and flowers are not only sinking
But air is being pushed away to space

I cannot breathe, I cannot breathe
It’s getting too late, getting too late
To find out what I know
What I know, what do I know?

Voices are now imprinted on a threatening sky
The trees are dropping, I still feel nothing
And the distorted splendour of the light show
Registers my resistance as human flying fish
Linger briefly among the poisoned sharks
Among the poison sharks

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Conversations with Anaїs Nin

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I was waking up and rising gently to the surface
Thanks to you, subconscious guru, my sudden loss of energy gave me
A shadowplay on the radio – some said it was the Silver Guru
In the Bengal hills, the old black pit having opened its arms again
Showing that power would soon seep from the Company
And the British Army and last days of the Raj, provoking fear in the infantry
That it marked the threat of insurrection in the villages.
I was waking up and rising gently to the surface
Peeking through to the future; and I was there too, later that day
When crows began to cluster, landing in the scrubs and pine.

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

The Children Are Watching

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Letter to an MP:
“You are a cruel person, whose views should be disregarded.
You wish harm to humanity.”

It is your duty to go shopping, or so I was told
It is your duty to the future . . .
And so I did as I was told.
Though I hadn’t any money
I had to find a way of scamming some:
Permission to live in a world
That did not want what I had to say

The children are watching, not far off in the future
Coming through the roof, Oskar hangs out with Bebra
Crawling beneath tables
Grubbing for insufficient food
And far from gutters and rotted sewage
Washed up on the beach: sludge of something shameful

The children are watching, not far off in the future

Their last mile of progress marred with hatred
It’s been long-drawn-out
And there should have been those who cared:
Slow meltdown in gasps of stupidity
No poetic soul could stop the mouths of bleeding greed . . .
I know, I had illusions

Suffer little children:
They do not excuse your shortcomings
You can’t believe what they saw, given short straws . . .
The children, the children, not far off in the future
Are watching . . .

Not so long ago, before the people’s spirit died
When the young ones had something to live up to
A mass experiment in human despair
Was brought about by gluttony and neglect
And downright deception and theft
Watching from chairs on the internet

The children are watching, dying on thin branches
Not far off in our own future
Where the betrayal really happened:
You killed your own offspring
Who barely outlived you.
You took the cream off their chance
And left despair in the dregs

*

When will we come alive again?
From a heavenly produce
What are we leaving them?
No chance of becoming real

The children are watching
Not far off in their woods
Somewhere the people are all good, just like in films ~
They never lack food, and always tell the truth
They’re peering through the roof . . .
I’ve never been upstairs, I’ve heard it’s beautiful
Where the children are watching from their skyway bedroom

What is this that is coming that is too dreadful to mention?
Tribal inquisition, regress in nightmares, following indecision

*

The children are watching
Clutching last straws
Their existence is a Medieval dream . . .
To fall down a quest, to the Bronze Age
And through the left-open door
World War Four is forever more

The children are watching, falling through the floor

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

The Great Big Sell-off

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Losing weight so we can go shopping again . . .

NARRATOR
Come on a spree with me, in the shopping sanctuary
We’ll buy what no one needs
Every pound we’ve not got, we’ll spend on luxuries
And shitty deals to shut us up

CHORUS
In the Great Big Sell-off

In the stink of afternoon, a baboon in his steel box
Offers to break my fingers off, as I curse him as I cross ~
He works for the masters of money,
There’s a sale on and he’s in a hurry ~
With half the species gone already
It’s an “extra special” feeding frenzy

So have yourself a drink, grab another plate
The beast that feeds on mincemeat says,
“What you need is some vacuous temptress
To tempt you like the adverts . . .”
The diners look on in stylised bleakness
Scraping their food off of axe heads

NARRATOR
Regardless of what’s going on
The grey-faced tramp comes lolloping along,
Drooping inside hell’s extravaganza,
Beard stuck out like a mildewed sponge
He howls and sneers through pristine windows
Blaring his soul like a megaphone:

TRAMP
Welcome to the Pleasuredome!

NARRATOR
But unable to persuade, to get what he wants (whatever that was),
He stumbles off, leaving the diners outside the restaurant
To stare in disgust as he drags his carcass, gnarled and gurning,
Singing “Get off the street, ’cos I’ve got a job

CHORUS
“. . . at the Great Big Sell-off!”

TRAMP
I wanna be high, when it’s my turn to die
They’ll sell it all, by and by ~
When they finish up the forests
Where’ll be left to hide?

NARRATOR
They gobble up each new purchase
As the world melts before their eyes . . .

*

NARRATOR
The sellers sell on at the great big sell-off ~
Soon we shall be stuffed with stuff/
A casino wheel speeding up/
Or starving in the midst of surplus/
Templates from the shopping circus . . .
Who creates this madness lit up by adverts?

CHORUS
The Great Big Sell-off

NARRATOR
In Sponsor’s Row, where anything goes
Classic art has turned to logos ~
With tattooed graphics to join the matrix
People mimic the gimmick of themselves ~
And with everything else flying off the shelves
The Earth too is going cheap in the sales . . .

NARRATOR
The great big sell-off continues apace
All hail to the human race
Grabbing at trinkets wherever they can ~
In the colossal trade-off, delusion and gain,
Always on a knife edge, to evenly split us up
We beg for products of no relief . . .

Along endlessly updated precincts
We dream of what’s gone, in simulation
(Buy yourself back on subscription)

CHORUS
Here in the Great Big Sell-off . . .

And you in your portly daze
Talk about a living wage
As if doling out for children;
Or rent us your tunnel vision

*

TRAMP + CHORUS
They drive our rents through the roof
Then call us spongers to boot . . .
Please sell me a new excuse
To be a coward!

TRAMP
I see beyond the dust of their gleaming towers

FARMER’S VOICE
GET OFF LAND!
We don’t want your rags or smell around ~
These idle trappings that drag you down
Will sell well down the river . . .

OTHER FARMER’S VOICE
Sellers may turn in their accounts later
When the Earth’s core is in liquidation
And human teeth and hair
Are up for consideration . . .

CHORUS
When they divide up the boats,
Losers shall be trussed up like goats
Or help lords reinforce their moats

NARRATOR
Ghettos in the North East
To be bulldozed over cliffs
After they’ve asset-stripped . . .

CHORUS + TRAMP
And when the last buyers have brought it all in,
When the gluttons have swallowed it up ~
Dead ducks float past gold-plated yachts.
Did they ever get what they want?

NARRATOR
When the meat puppets have their funnels
Stuck in the sludge-bucket of money,
When you think it’s all funny ~
What else can you sell me?

CHORUS
The Great End-of-it-all, end-it-all Jolly

FARMER’S VOICE [posh]
Mind gobbling folly! . . . The, err . . . [losing interest]

CROWD
. . . The Great Big / can’t wait! . . .
Their great . . . Big Great . . .
Hypnotic . . . de-humanised . . .
Ss-ss . . . Sod-all . . .
Sell Off . . .

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

The Drones Are Coming

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Coming soon to a street near you . . .

Here they come, sweeping the air
The drones have got round to our area
While you were sleeping or watching porn
The last to be informed
Singing, “Give it to me, give it to me / It’s mine, I want it!”
Well, you know what?

The drones have come to our part of town
Squeezing up fences, breaking us down
Weaving webs around our family
Watchful eyes far away

We are to be replaced or packed up for slavery
Being free makes you an enemy of society
Rebuilding tribes around masters of money
In the tug-of-war over land and what’s left on it
Drones are worth more than human bodies

Back in the control room, your life is bagatelle
The tin can viewpoints of your existence
Don’t match your bank balance . . .
Videos in the distance
Trail the bottom line of our resistance

The drones have got round to our area
They reach out for us everywhere
Cold eyes sweeping through,
Tendrils carving paradise

Mr Nice Guy: look where he works!
The buzz he gets from the damage he does
. . . Head plugged in, eyes that cannot see
Who’d’a thought such a fella could be
So dirty behind the street

There are dozens in the warehouse, of boys and girls
Playing with high-tech toys for fun ~
Their teenage years were not wasted!
Friends in the neighbourhood who waited too long,
Trusting in the goodness of power:
The game of glossy game-up is heading our way . . .

Don’t hang around this part of town
The drones have come to cut us down
Weaving webs around our family:
I’ll run away and so should you . . .

Metal is more valuable to the gangs that are forming
You are highly expendable to the drones that are coming:
They’ll wipe away everything, even your tears

[breathless]
The drones are coming
I see them beyond the trees

[FX: panic with silence]

“Run for the stronghold; but it’s too late ~
The drones are coming, to furnish us with . . .”

*

[FX: with silence, building up]

The drones have come to our part of town
The drones have come to cut us down
Roads strewn with burning cars
Red pools of pedestrians

Back in the control room
Mr Nice Guy spills his coffee, he gets so excited:
“It’s music for reptiles, when I’m here!”

[spoken like a Cockney WW2 policeman:]
“. . . And lucky he didn’t burn his leg this time;
He got your family by the looks of it
And he’ll get you too if you’re not quick”

Ha wipe you out ~ what a lark
The drones are coming, hurrah hurrah
And then . . .

[sounding weak, slowing to halt]
“We drop down and they roll over . . .
It was too much for us to pull together
The way peoples used to
When their homes were threatened . . .”

*

The drones are coming ::
And something worse . . .

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

The Hunt

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So you chased me down
Till you saw me bleed
The good things I said
Were left unfound

My creative visions
Will last a lifetime
I’ve begun a map of the swamp
I’ve climbed trees in disbelief

The harder it gets
Barbed wire bible
Machine men like to think they dream
Ghost-copied souls, as required

It’s not clear they want you
But they will chase you down
Till they see you bleed
The hunt is coming through

Something lurking in my wild mind
By the eclipse of the moon
You’re too proud to face the truth
Or forge ahead

The hunt is coming through

Take it much further you goon
You could be dead soon

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

When We Were Very Young

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Opening up a tide of free and easy feet
we were the wildest rock’n’roll ground patrol:
We played the game with girls in the street
lit sunset fires on top of Star Hill
And in the church of nature’s heartbeat drum
formed a tree belief, slow whirlwind ideals.
It was full child ahead in confusion and fun
falling through faces, targeting the one
When we were very young

“Appendix to the nation, expect the crowd’s jeers:
unemployed artists must keep their mind inside . . .”
Dream warriors not idle soldiers
cut off in shame with arms open wide;
Hermits in a pond while rebels abscond
with childhood’s fly-a-way hopes, then decide
To drop out once for all, abandoned and forlorn ~
swamp children made good with roadrunner lungs
When we were very young

We watched how nature played when Indians showed us
our faces ran free to diminish our fears ~
A breathing Earth to mine the darkness
steamed blue skies with hissed up tears.
We were too grown up to reach recurrence
when our child cuddled up to find us, we were
Isolated in a soft palace in the sun:
weeds grown yellow in a lunatic garden
When we were very young

Misfed mission in a land built for television
voyeuristic comedown in edible society ~
Let us pray to wake up in vision
and scale the walls of Unreal City
Where neon vacuums drown our spirits numb
in the clean oceans of eternity
Let our fame come gliding with freedom to be sung
feeling the best may yet be to come
When we are very young

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

She-Cat Meets He-Frog and Becomes Three-Face Man

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I-am-be-me
Equal in sexuality
Facing my other face
Between She and He
My soul creates
An utmost ace
That waves and generates
A spark that rocks the race, and waits
Sylphlike, poised for self-capture.

In a schizophrenic world
The Three-Face Man is King.
(In confused company
No one knows where his throne should be
For he wears no name tag.)

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Nostamina

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Now you’d like to see me cry, wouldn’t you?
I wish you’d be more friendly
I’m only an unknown man
Trying to break through

Nostamina
Girl of a thousand charms
Must pretend you’re happy
Screwing up an’ wasting your time
Nostamina, Nostamina

I’ve been so goddamn patient and sad for you
Can’t see you in these streets now
Too much time to be lonely
Waiting for you

Nostamina
Girl of a thousand charms
Can’t pretend you’re happy
You keep me walkin’ down the same line
Nostamina, Nostamina

I left it open for you
These days I can’t wait much longer
Looks like we’ll go it alone
Or else we’ll grow old soon

I carried a heavy load, all for you
Don’t ask me where I’m going
I just keep on walking – never stop
Till I find somebody who is not

Nostamina
Girl of a thousand charms
Hangin’ on the waiting line ~ Nostamina
You can’t pretend you’re happy
Nostamina, Nostamina

I feel everything so deep as hills
I wish you hadn’t blown it
Maybe I’m just as happy as I’m sad
But feel like cryin’ out for you still

No stamina

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

New Life

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New life in lieu of old
Same passions still aflame
I feel the shock of heart attack
Well, what about me?
What about my love
who could not be?

The wind rockets through,
higher, higher.
If you take me up
I’ll embrace you too.
Quick or my fingers will snap
and lose you in free fall.

The wind rockets through
It’s a mutual game
We can both win if we want to
Higher, higher

– A new life for us both together.
The bad dream must end,
the sadness break.

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Hunt.

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Use my creative hand for what?
I have so many visions
they will take a lifetime
and more and more
to decipher.

However, I have begun a map of the jungle
I’ve fallen in love with the swamp
I’ve climbed trees of disbelief
I’ve eaten in sociability
experimentally human.

I am the black cat of the humid jungle
lightfoot dreamer in the night –
round every corner I prowl and gleam
luminous green-eyed being
my fur crackles and trickles in vibe
drumbeats in the jungle
far off signal –
the hunt is on.

Something lurking in the night
a starlit imagination
a silver moon
a decisive intent.

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Heart of Love

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It seems that out of my past
my sorry head through fog and confusion came
looking for direction
and on this sunny day I found you

As we walked through the swaying grasses
you showed me how the trees talk in the breeze
How they tempt us to run like children
or birds winging their way

Now my wandering has found a centre
and that centre is you
I am glad it is autumn
and I don’t have to wait

It seems that out of the
deepest misery of my past
my sorry head through fog it poked
Through dense confusion I came
looking for direction
and on this day I found you

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Are you outside tonight?

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Are you outside tonight?
’Cos that’s where I’m gonna go
There’s no point in dreaming
The same thing over and over
If it will never happen

So outside I’m gonna go
And look for you real slow
Even if you’re completely hiding
I’ll be certain of where to look
Following close on your heartbeat
But could you stoke it up a bit?

*

The music became dull & empty
So no one understood
I can say what the dawn
Wants to spit in your licktrobes:

Let’s leave this room behind
Use our hands to wipe the slime
Now a new skin has arrived
Let me tell the serpent
It’s time I stood by myself
No more leaning on walls

Don some character garment
Slip it on and exterminate
Last year’s cast-off fear
Foundationed in your bowels
You can see love’s footprints
Curl across the dreaming floor

You are now able, ambitious and free
Like you deserve to be
Beating in the midst of armies
Going out all you can
Wishing to be free in company
Alive and kicking

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Come Loonies

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1.

Summer found us
Experimenting on the hillside
Trees streaming tears
Pushed up, heated runnings

They are surely coming now
Weird Beard must be right,
Hammered by omens . . .
He met me: a sign
To tag along with bouncy feelings

Tonight, on a hill
Farting about like we should
Our power of life and furious youth
Sets sparks alight in the foothills

Aliens will land tonight
Near our camp we prepared them a ring
Now we may rest

Weird Beard, impatient, is up before us
Trailing tomcat vibes,
Networks of crystal slug roads
Spray-frosted in the dawn Sun

2.

Still nothing!

Smart Alecs stir the pot
With throw-weed flamer, giant backpack
We singe the savannah grasses
Alien footprint giant branding
Stolen from a man’s potting shed

Brings TV News out filming
Fake saucer ring and monster prints
Painting the dusk hills over Dog City
WB says aliens now have egg on face
And here we have come, desperate for challenge

Loonies, come loonies

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Highgate Woods

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Here in Highgate Woods
I am drinking from a dream
Late afternoon
Of gold weaving through the leaves
Of darkening trees beyond which
The last children are being called in
With barely a hope in the world

I won’t do what I’m told
I’ve come back to where I started
Hiding from those who won’t have me
I am hiding yet calling secretly
Suffering the sickness of the world
And nothing is coming in, or back
Except a ray of gold before night begins
And it’s very cold

I am calling secretly
For you would understand
I am so famished
With barely a hope in my plan
Spooked by the call of hunger
I will eat the chips from my shoulders

The friends I used to know
Departed long ago
So here I am
Hiding myself in Highgate Woods
Before I have to go home

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Nest of Vipers

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Swirling sting on venomous string
A new type of charm
Next year’s fear
Oh colour yourselves so pretty!

Nettle finger handshake
Bloodshot eyes not deep
We’re the future!
Where better to see yourselves!

New age hustle, humdrum
Too many smiles!
But one tear!
True way not once perused!

Lukewarm cocktail swigger swagger
Don’t try to joke
Figure of the year!
Sell or buy? View our souls!

Hard lines, hardly lined
Peel us off
Face cracks
False tears, pay the fellow!

New face. New face=Old face
Fodder plodder. Still!
Must live! True!
Think think! Help! Crack!

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Merely Missing One Day

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Merely missing one day
the semi-human tiger
yearning for hope
and thirsting for hunger,
in a world
underfed all the way

Bull-rings in the afternoon
scotching the whizzkid –
fleeting, ephemeral –
outside as a runner,
sung in sight
and dying, ageing soon

Shafts of laughter
crashing in unbold –
iron and steel –
fox eyes this summer,
cunningly
living ever after

Wave after wave
hereafter smashing
spray rewards
pinned on for medals,
counting
freely breaking waves . . .

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Infectious (Fuss #1023)

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An infectious drought is on the cards
Did you think you wouldn’t get the chance?
What you see laid out —
Time to travel to your death
(And I still don’t know who you are)

The gravy train was robbed last night
No one had a word to say
By the smell on my breath this morning
I could tell the crowd had me involved
I still don’t know what the fuss was for

Where’s the energy gone?
Sucked out and flustered . . .
Such willing disappearance
I don’t know what to say
But I’m angry and I’m bored

I shun the productions of their mediocrity
Shiny monsters polished and ordinary
A loathsome production line of garbage
Whose very odourlessness
Stinks to high heaven . . .

The first stage of doing
Is elongating . . .
Your squashy thoughts turn back in
So eke them bloody out
Or else they’re useless points on a spectrum

What this new age finds about growth
How to raise the tempest within
Before it’s too late, use the rake
And sprinkle the harvest before it happens
Who knows who we will ever be?

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

Artemis

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The promise of eternal youth
turns to the broken pledge of old age.
Time flies and to the best of my ability
I try to write things down;
but the Great Recording Angel
I feel would like me to spell it all out
and scratch it on the surface
where God could hardly find it.

Highbrowed on the ocean,
Artemis is holding fort
(Yes, there’s sea on land)
and here I ask the High Priestess
of existentialism for a quotation,
free of charge and without obligation.
To which she replies, hard of heart:
“You don’t have to live for the moment.”

Bewildered still
in the face of supercilion
I put a further question.
She says: “You’d better buy a butterfly,
to watch it flit and take decisions ~
haul the world from chains
or all the world’s a stage.”
I tweak her nose and watch it grow.

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© 2021 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications

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