Hidden Lake

The parking lot for the Hidden Lake is a mile north of the Interstate,
Just past the Veterans’ Cemetery.
Wind a mile further or so past the map at the entrance that doesn’t show the newest connecting trails,
Past the roofless cinderblock farmhouse with trees grown up through its dirty floor,
Up, and Over the concrete dancefloor poured during prohibition that overlooks the graveless lawns that hopefully field the outskirts of the cemetery,
And beyond the empty train car that someone must have hauled up here as a joke, or on a dare, or as part of the scheme to conceal consumption of liquors untaxed and unlawful,
And there is the Hidden Lake.
Cut stone walls shear up from a quarry missing a lake’s worth of rock,
And the muddy trail around invites enfoliaged visitors to appreciate it from each side.
Is this a legacy?
Things taken and took from nature, reclaimed and repurposed?
Is this vacation pit more impressive than the all the blocks that were taken from it and have since crumbled?
There are no plaques riveted to the benches extolling, “look upon my works, ye leisurely, and relax!”
Though the stapled paper at the trailhead warns in laminate: “valuables must not be left in vehicles.”
The stewards of this place have seen things taken,
And this place is open to the sky.

The last iPhone

Will people travel one day to see the last iPhone?

By last, I speak of finality, not recency.

Will the final iPhone last?
Will it stand against the sky like the last pyramid,
casting solar-powered shadows across the sand?
Will it stand as a testament to our societal might at organizing labor against its interests,
a monument to slow death constructed on the backs of cheap life?
Or will it just linger quietly,
its legacy cemented classically onto a back page of apple’s online store,
next to the last iPod?

Can pyramids share a horizon?
Can we make it that far?

Architecturally Refined

If triangular polygons are the the atomic unit
of the 3D models in our games,
rectangular ones must share the same meaning
for the premises in our lives.

I ride past boxy plots with boxy buildings,
Reduced in complexity to be rendered more quickly.
Refined such that workers rise up structures
in frames per hour.

Advice

I hear you should shop only while your stomach is content.

Wake only when your mind is rested, they say.

A magazine cover reads in the checkout line:
“10 spring tips to stop worshipping graven images”

But I am hungry,
And I am tired,
And I know at least eight of those tips are recycled.

All-Star Tyger

Tyger, Tyger, skating slight,
But not yet thinner than the ice;
What encircled water warm,
Will mightily embrace thy form?

Does the cindrous globe aflame,
Burn both mine and thine the same?
In the way that I admire,
Without boredom, I seize the fire?

Focus

Focus.
If not focus, direction.
If not direction, misdirection.
If not misdirection, blur.

Speed.
If not speed, acceleration.
If not acceleration, modulation.
If not modulation, flow.

Path.
Don’t chart,
just tumble and stumble
onto
not
into
places you didn’t know
were for you.

Lottery

The Tennessee State Lottery
Is a bargain for anyone
Who needs a daily reminder
God doesn’t favor them.

A two-dollar lesson,
A ward against exceptionalism
Repeated routinely.
God will never let you play to win.
Work for it.

Amazing

Some of the little boys pretend to be Achilles,
Dipped upside down by their mothers,
Screaming that they’re drowning,
In unheelthy invincibility.
 
While some of the little girls,
Can’t let go of being Elsa,
Closed off and locked away
From the terrors of friendship.
 
But all the children on the schoolyard,
Take turns being Spider-Man,
Amazing and sobbing
Over Uncle Ben on the sidewalk.
Surrounded by the other kids
Who pretend to capture the moment
On invisible phones
Not thinking to call for help.

All the stars

All the stars in the sky can’t fuel
The engines of my ambition,
I’ve done the math, and
Will need to tap
an alternative source.
 
With every man a fulcrum
And my tendrils on each lever,
And the galaxies so distant,
My task will take forever.
 
So I’ve started braiding spacetime here
And cutting what ifs there.
And considering hiring a maid from an app on my phone,
Though it makes me a bit uncomfortable.

Amidst missed mist

Forget flying cars and trips to stars and moons beyond the belt,
Please settle, yawn, put the kettle on,
and weigh the cards you’re dealt.
 
Dismiss the dreams of thought machines we’d agreed would exist,
Don’t wonder why no weak AI is rolling in our midst,
With lights and sounds splayed all around, with lasers piercing mist,
The present time does dreams defy, some targets must be missed.