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After talking to you .
I let the dogs out
and went about cleaning my room.
going through papers and books.
trying to make since of it all.
I put on Nick Cave’s Boatman’s Call.
and then went out side
to look at my pepper and tomato plants.

The birds become abundant
crying ,
searching
Buddy Gump walks at a fast pace
with birds flying all around him.
orange chests pushed into his face
beaks pecking at his butt
his tail tucked underneath.

I recall
a kitten that once purred in my lap;
then, later she clawed at my face.
her tail wagging,
strong sharp snaps
back and forth.

The birds circumvent me,
as Buddy hid behind me.
Their brown wings
crack before me.
I stand.
Their movements become tornadic.
screeches
yells
they fly from me
to Buddy
to the trees
to the small black birds that fly about the sky.

but what was this all about?

There is a secret caught inside,
inside the throat.
hidden radiant whiteness.
innocence.

Two birds attack and hammer us back,
Buddy Gump, I and the other birds.

But for what?
I bear witness to my own cowardice,
As I see that they joined together
to declare us dead.
for love:
a little baby bird had fallen
while trying to fly.
He had come down to rest within the dangers of the ground world.
for him these birds have lived
and for him they will die.

What they didn’t realize,
Buddy Gump was just trying to say hi,
to the little bird.

This is a poem
written to the scientist,
asking questions about every molecule and nebula,
about things we cannot see.
They dictate these things,
make us go to labs try and prove it.
Eighty-five differentiated kinds of cells within the body.
It’s strange, almost perverse,
that prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells filled with cytoplasm
contain little organelles that work to keep the cell alive,
just as our organs do us so to speak.
Lysosomes, ribosomes, golgi bodies,,
all work in a labyrinth of membranes,
consisting of a double layer of phospholipids and other lipids,
forming flattened sacs and tubes that segregate the contents
from each other,
the Labyrinth of Minos.

I have to take their candor word
there are chromosomes
consisting of DNA
which wrap around protein macromolecules
and a few other things,
slammed into a nucleus.
Everything consists of these nuclei,
with their chromies and maps,
their messenger, RNA.
So these DNAs are the foremen of the construction of an organism.
Deep in the alleles of the chromosome they work long hours,
so that all cells and DNAs can live in kyosei (Japanese meaning ‘symbiosis’).

I have to take on faith
that these things are true,
living,
yet they bray me with their codex.

You are the worshiper of the god of mechanism,
and the dance of the embryo.
With the Oocyte of Mary laid on a cold table
soaking in chemicals of static.
It makes me realize
the gods are scientists,
and this planet just an experiment.
I wonder if we are the control
or some mutant strand,
somewhere off the genetic drift.