Eluemuno.

My name is like a coiled spring:
and in those times when the rust
shifts and cracks to release an
energy -- constant and persistent,
gyroscopically focused on
the return home.

The rustiness is abuse; the "necessary"
time-out-of-spirit, time-out-of-land
which, left too long,
makes the uncoiling
Rebellion,
and constancy frustrating.

Baby on the BART.

If I am a baby,
is it OK for my to hang out with my
Drugged up mom?
Is it OK to travel alone with her on the BART?
Asleep?
Am I less safe than when I was inside her?
What if I crossed the line? I mean, went back?
Would anybody know?
Should I cry?
Should I be silent?
What if something went wrong?
Who are all these people anyway?
would they help me?

She parked my push-chair real well. R-E-A-L well.
She even remembered to put on the brakes.
You see? She cares!
But what if she changes her mind?
Tries to take me up the escalator backwards?
Should I cry?
Should I be silent?
She IS careful,
My Mom.


june 08