Process Engineering

why oh why did I sell my first edition hard copy flow chart again?  oh, I needed money.
Katherina is an unwilling participant in the relationship, but Petruchio tempers her with various psychological torments—the "taming"—until she becomes a compliant and obedient bride. 

are there any weeds in meadows?  

ok, the title is going to have something about Los in it


I guess you're making
a shape
from a natural form,

proving tools' uses.

The curled shavings are nice
and smell good,

like death, I guess.

Like Persephone,
the deciduous toss their leaves,
the evergreens do throughout the year,
but the azalias, camillas, and roses need help.
We dead-head them and force blooms.

Going Negative

I prefer "mu" but "no" is expedient.

"The hushed pictures push."

Don't interrupt while I'm delivering a diatribe, or
giving you a much-needed, IMO, lecture on deportment.
Don't explode after I make salient points, facetiously,
about your lack of emotion, obsequiousness, etc.

I beg of you, allow me to do this thing while you sit quietly
with your hands folded in your lap.  You are pretty.
Make your time more useful.

You're strong. I expected you to challenge me on that.

Why don't you communicate only in response?
Why are you unavailable to me?

You can't call, and to write would be inappropriate.
What do you mean when you say "justify"?  "Humility"?
Not what I mean.  Shut up.  Revise your definitions.  Talk.
You have already written at length on these subjects.

Let's go to Bolivia and blow shit up, drunk on aged mescal.

I can be the rocket, and you the target, or vice versa.

Let's walk through the desert,
measure our lives in, I dunno, some sort of standard based in earth,
stars, animals.

Meanwhile, who cares?
We will make that art, or we are screaming, crying,
licking all the corners and sides,
together as we should be together.

The world moves.
Our perceptions of the world move us.

We have eaten enough, partaken enough
that the world lives in us.
We might roll our trousers up in a flood,
know which cutlery to use, and when, and how.

Dance with me, anytime, anyplace.
Please.  We can own time and place
with this small purchase.

Will you make me crazy, or I you?
But I want to go, with you.


more new poem drafts from 1st loss book

we attach easily,
we who suffer loss/lose

[sex after funerals, rebounding,
post-traumatic stress from disruptive attachment and detachment,

we all like to think we are seeing it and calling it as it is,
each person deserves respect and is beautiful
but what do I know?

a lot of pain and how to inflict it,
ways to suffer so that suffering can't mend,
but we all know these things

before zaniness ensued,
I thought I would walk away to some beach, watch the sky.

I learned the value of holding and being held by
a person I love,
a person who loves me,
a person who loves everybody,
anybody gentle and kind, tender and considerate,

I had expected to have that choice, but i don't.
I can make do with pillows and memories.


Is the end of every day like the end of all one's days?
Is sunrise hope or at least persistence?

I won't persist as longs as I thought,
just as long as I am able,
given my circumstances.

Maybe.  I moved from yet another slammingly beautiful day to weather.
And back.  And forth.

Sun and stars move, shine, but that's physics, mythology:  perception.
The surf inherently, without cease,
breaks shell, coral, rock, into sand.


We lose everything we ever thought we knew, loved,
as well as all those items,
even stars and strewn shells, shells which are things lost.

Let's get together on this.  We love and fail.
Gather pleasure?
Gone, slipped out to buy a newspaper.
We write, smear our hands with awe and more ink and graphite
than pages are inscribed by us -- words, symbols, figures, lines and shading.

We enact ephemeral
and intransigent.


Can I help this habit of thinking, homing?
so I try to love again, again, constantly,
despite experience of durable love's death,
rebirth reconfigured.

Love doesn't die as I will, it flickers and burns
as I do.

"I will" but what does it matter.  "I do" and just can't help it.

Hope, pray, act -- what is poetry but prayer, what is love or poetry but proof?

Centering even an emotional hurricane, peace.

Peace, hard work, proves use.

Open all the windows, turn on all the lights.
Shutter and protect, prepare.


Show up.  Act like you mean it.

There are too many beings.
There are too few.

Everything (automatically) concludes.



Please hold me.  Thanks.  I'm having a hot flash.
Cuddling is great but I need to sleep so that I can drive/take this meeting tomorrow.

When can I share an evening with you again?

Do you respect me?  Yeah,
tears are not like rain.
I like your smell and taste
(in my body, my mouth).  << OK THIS IS A DRAFT!!!!
My lost love taught me that.