It has been a year since I last published. Over the year, the world continued her search for eternal youth but still there were new stress fractures, signs of aging, and a moodiness in knowing. No solace found in the passing days. There were greater storms, floods, fires, tornadoes, droughts, and oil spills. Continuing unseasonal weather changes, even slight shivers, earthquakes, or late freezes. One could argue that it was all natural and nothing new. Yes, one could argue and indeed we did argue as we have for years. One could argue that there was nothing new in our arguing, while others could argue that the there was no purpose in the arguments. Like someone discovered building a bomb in the basement, deny, obfuscate, cover your tracks. On the verge of pressing “The Button.”
These poems are some of my buttons, some plain and direct and others have a slight flourish. Though these are usually more internalized buttons and, in some cases, even with a touch of humor as in “Lingua Franca.” They hold together an ensemble, like buttons in a sewing kit or buttons on a control panel, carefully laid out and labelled, the big red one has a cover to prevent being accidentally activated. In the end, the question remains, “If you could push the button, would you?”
Or perhaps, for the nostalgic types, like the buttons on a jukebox, selected with care, bringing emotions as the record spins and spins, slight pops, and crackling. Five selections for a dollar, like B-17.
Would you push the green button, enter Telesterion? Or perhaps the blue button, “Not Enough,” “Did you think it was enough to simply cut yourself...(?)” Like the Wurlitzer, polished, multi-color and inviting and all you need is the correct change.
It has been a year since I last published. Over the year, the world continued her search for eternal youth but still there were new stress fractures, signs of aging, and a moodiness in knowing. No solace found in the passing days. There were greater storms, floods, fires, tornadoes, droughts, and oil spills. Continuing unseasonal weather changes, even slight shivers, earthquakes, or late freezes. One could argue that it was all natural and nothing new. Yes, one could argue and indeed we did argue as we have for years. One could argue that there was nothing new in our arguing, while others could argue that the there was no purpose in the arguments. Like someone discovered building a bomb in the basement, deny, obfuscate, cover your tracks. On the verge of pressing “The Button.”
These poems are some of my buttons, some plain and direct and others have a slight flourish. Though these are usually more internalized buttons and, in some cases, even with a touch of humor as in “Lingua Franca.” They hold together an ensemble, like buttons in a sewing kit or buttons on a control panel, carefully laid out and labelled, the big red one has a cover to prevent being accidentally activated. In the end, the question remains, “If you could push the button, would you?”
Or perhaps, for the nostalgic types, like the buttons on a jukebox, selected with care, bringing emotions as the record spins and spins, slight pops, and crackling. Five selections for a dollar, like B-17.
Would you push the green button, enter Telesterion? Or perhaps the blue button, “Not Enough,” “Did you think it was enough to simply cut yourself...(?)” Like the Wurlitzer, polished, multi-color and inviting and all you need is the correct change.
The Button
The Button
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940165895135 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Michael Tapia |
| Publication date: | 11/28/2021 |
| Sold by: | Smashwords |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 45 KB |