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Note to Paul Ryan

Paul Ryan seems too concerned,
I fear,
that there are those who actively seek to harm
the U.S. President.

While I am among those
who would prefer to live in a nation
that never would have ever elected a Trumpian,
an anti-Lady Liberty Colossus,
this is because we feared he might deliver on his promises,
thereby bringing far more harm upon himself,
and the rest of us,
than we would ever wish
upon our worst enemy.

DT is harming himself quite effectively.
He needs no help with that.

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Uncategorized

Dancing Through Swamps

Mom, did you hear the news about patriarchy today?

Yes, dearest son!
Or no…
I’m not sure.
You mean the gender translation problem?

Not sure we had a problem,
just an honest mistake
we might more empathically suppose.

Perhaps I am too paranoid,
hunting conspiracies
and thereby gathering folly,
yet reversing ancient scriptured words
for penis and vagina
smells hellfire brimstone intentional to me.

So much for my plans to become a priest.

I am so sorry your lack of a vagina
now feels emasculating of your future,
my great-loved son.
What vocation remains
for you to find
now you have become the infertile son
of a sacred matriarchal Priest?

Mom, really?
Tell me you’re not pursuing ordination again.

Why not?
We talk about a priest shortage
brought on by massive defrocking of priests
without the newly requisite vagina.

Maybe I could go into religious education.
Yet, truth told
my head’s not in it,
nor was that an implied penile reference,
teaching all those boys
how and why
when and where
they must now become subservient
to the more robust virtues
of the more sacred vagina.

Maybe you could teach in an all girls school?

But,
I don’t feel like an ecopolitical after-thought,
ready to slurp up only mainstream leftovers.
This reverse translation issue
feels unnatural to me.

Well, of course it does, my son,
you don’t have superior vagina wisdom.

Maybe I need a sex change.

Maybe we all need some trans-regenerational
re-education.

If you say so.
You’re the one for nurturing vagina dialogues.

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Definitions and Delineations

To define is to articulate what lies within
a concept,
a population,
a word,
a paradigm.

To delineate is to articulate what lies beyond
boundaries of a concept,
a population,
a word,
a gestalt.

To extend learning,
and loving,
is to stretch this evolving articulation of boundaries
between what lies within
and without
a concept,
a population,
a tradition,
a still evolving word,
a revolutioning,
multiculturing,
creolizing paradigm.

When we become lost in reductive delineations
we can become distracted from optimizing polypathic definitions.

For example,
Republicans, and, to a somewhat lesser extent,
Democrats, in the USA,
have begun a new tradition,
and not a healthy one,
of becoming more articulate definers
of what it means to be One
by loudly proclaiming we are not of the Other.
Something similar could be said, unfortunately,
about feminists and patriarchal fundamentalists
as anti-feminists;
which does not really evoke strong hetero family values
in any traditional nutritional fertile sense I can think of.

I guess we could call rape a form of intercourse,
but not one that anyone would hope for
in any semblance of a healthy way.

Anyway,
when Trumpians try to define the benefits
of their proposed health care legislation,
the first, and often last, phrase I hear is:
It is not ObamaCare.

Perhaps the only change
will reside within a colloquial NonTitle,
leaving further delineating boundaries
between Trumpian and Obamian Care
to evolve further at a later devolutionary time.

But, in today’s polarizing environment,
health affordability and sustenance
and pathology prevention issues
are increasingly above our active political leadership’s pay scale,
beyond our collective rhetorical mission statements,
now becoming who we are constitutionally not,
because too internally divided by plutocratic-democratic complexities
of who we might have become
together,
in and among a healthier
wealthier
regenerative spacetime
paradigm.

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Inductive-Deductive EcoLogic

-0 + 1 = 1,
but positive or negative 1?
We do not have enough in/ex-formation to say,
perhaps somewhere in-between.

-0 + (+1) = +1
-0 + (-1) = -1

If +1.00%
measures universal solar bright light heat–diastatic
and -1.00% calculates rock-solid unitarian interdependent frozen fusion–entropic,

Then Mother Earth’s Cooperative
Blue-Green Balance
appears to spiral ultra-violet in between.

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Deviating Sisters

One of my sisters believes I chose to be queer.

Did you remind her
you had no more choice about chasing guys
than she did?

Yes.
But her favorite televangelist
says I must be mistaken,
or just lying,
because who wouldn’t choose to be hated
by all the hetero homophobes
like televangelists,
right?

That makes no sense.
She can’t really believe
you would choose to belong
to any repressed and humiliated minority,
especially during early onset of puberty,
when every girl and boy in any culture
is terrified of becoming different,
or special,
or weeded out of the clickety-clak pack.

Well, as she sees it,
she is in a LoseLose double-bind.
Either I chose to be queer, and am thereby demented,
or God graces all forms of WinWin sexual expression,
which would be contrary to her homophobic enculturation,
so it is easier to believe I am nuts
to choose perversely
than to consider herself nuts
not to choose more graciously,
especially with regard to God’s creative capacity for love,
rather than simplistic judgments
which look and smell and sound like patriarchal sexism
more than radical fertility of God’s healthy wealth
of incarnating love for all children,
red and yellow,
black and white,
gay and straight
and shades of grey transgenderal,
each is precious in our multiculturing
nurturing
MotherEarth’s sight.

What about your other sister?

Oh, she agrees.

With what, or whom?

She agrees we’re all nuts.

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Domestic Entertainments

I find my entertainments close to home
as nothing could be more wildly hilarious
and downright curious
than my own complex teenagers
who sometimes speak
and do their math
about what adds up toward our shared
and independent
futures.

Then there are cacophonous birds
mourning doves and sparrows
blue jays and robins
yellow finches and ravens
greeting dawning light
as if some unprecedented miracle were unfolding
about which they will chatter and chirp amongst themselves
for many generations to come,
like climate marchers
just happy to be here
for this climaxing stellar event.

Then too I have neighbor watching and listening
which picks up more during afternoons,
after school buses drop off
wounded and yet still wondering kids,
with dogs and cats and even grandparents
to greet them,
while moms and dads slave away
at their own employee entertainments.

Meanwhile squirrels and chipmunks
scold and scamper
with playful industry,
or playing at industry,
who could say?

Worms are burrowing in the garden,
hopefully,
although I hate to interrupt them
solely for my frivolous fancies
regarding appropriate adult entertainment.

They often respond, upon my thunderous devastation
of enlightening presence,
as if they were having some intimate moment
that I have immodestly exposed to light.
I apologize
and move on.

The bumble bees have posted flying sentries
around my front porch,
each flying in place all day long
tiny yellow and black helicopters
engaged in serious military intelligence gathering
over my scandalously erratic comings and goings,
importations and exportations,
exhortations,
and, even worse,
often actually sitting down on their porch’s swing,
rocking back and forth,
and staring back,
just as if I were not least bit intimidated.
Merely curious
about what’s so valuable at home
up under their roof
that they find me such a suspicious alien threat.

But really,
for me,
these bumbling buzzing sentries are merely entertainment.
I especially love to watch
when they occasionally dive-bomb each other
for some inscrutable random whimsy
in which it occurs to me
their placement may be a pageant
having nothing to do with me,
other than my enjoyment
of their benign entertainments
here in this home we share.

While star gazing
and looking for the moon’s rise and fall,
wax and wane,
sailing behind and between diaphanous clouds,
stretch my focus further out at night,
this seems to suit my at home dreams
as do these raucous insects
selling nocturnal sex and happiness
as if my backyard
on down toward the river
were their red light flowing district.

It amuses me,
hearing their combined intensity of purpose,
to continue my entertainments
on through each warm month night
until its time for those gospel choiring birds
to squawk and chirp
whistle and cheep
another at home climate marching dawn.

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