Without Lifting A Finger

Another old poem I just found on the Net in Right Hand Pointing: "Heart." Had totally forgotten it. Not sure whether it ever made it into one of my books. Heart 1. Words. Symbols. Sums. What fraction of reality gets into them? The commerce of the hordes, he thinks. The earth-dwellers.  Those with the hubristic screech and scrawl. 2. Heart is playing at the Hollywood Bowl tonight ( Crazy on You ). He is tooling  about trying to get the right combination of nibbles and bits:  Pinot noir,  brie, fresh figs, etc.  Leaving TJ’s, he flinches, then grabs a few plastic  knives and forks from their holsters on the wall.  Sorry, he thinks.  We’ve done this to ourselves. We’re doing it.  Stopping  isn’t an option.          

An old poem of mine that my AI kicked up tonight (from my book Matman & Testudo): "Surface Tension." I had almost forgotten it. LAUSD was "restructuring" and my principal said, "Don't worry, you'll land somewhere. You're a good teacher." I landed somewhere, then somewhere else. Etc. Stressful but fun -- exploring many places I had no idea about, even teaching some simple science. Anyway, here's the poem (inspired by my drive in the morning, over the two bridges to and through San Pedro CA). Surface Tension If the paperclip doesn’t float on the water’s surface, first lay a thin piece of paper on the water, then lay the clip gently on the paper * He’s not drowning. The nearest body of water is the bottle of water in the back of the car, wedged between two Blue Ice Blocks in his Igloo. Still, he sits behind the wheel taking in little fish gulps, as though staving off the big gulp that would take him under  *  The way to his new job takes h...