Gleeful Recreation

That old thing? It’s garbage!

Worn beyond repair.

There’s pieces missing.

It just don’t work.

Besides, it’s ugly as hell.

It ain’t worth the effort

to give it away.

Lord knows it’ll sure never sell!

So there it sat

rusting and rotten,

a refuge for rats,


And that’s the way that I found it,

buried in decades of leaves,

gone over to rot and decay.

So, what permission, I seized it

and happily hauled it away.

I see some beauty

in worm eaten woodwork

patina’d by years of sunlight,

lichen, leaf mold, and rain.

And in its metal remains

weathered beneath

the rust revealing

a roadmap of courage and pain

etched deeply into each surface

glazed over with alchemical stain.

Yes, It’s beyond restoration.

It will never be as it was;

but that doesn’t mean it is worthless.

Together with other detritus,

we will construct common cause.

Designing therefrom

some homunculus,

fitting a whole new function

denying original form.

We Desperate Few

Squished tight

in this bottle’s




We get the point!

Our seed fell amongst

the thorns

we grew ourselves.


All druthers…


be now surrendered.

Slaves to survival,

we’ve become.


So much rocky ground;

many paths to extinction;

no fertile fields

in sight.




Any hope resides

in casting our seeds widely.


that deed’s our duty

to our tiny tribe

in dire need

of progeny.


There is not time

for discrimination!

There can be

no selection.


We know not…

Care not…

from whom




We need each mutation…

Any happenstance …

A chance .


The least glimmer,

faintest hint of light

to stand proudly erect

within the crush of night.