Friday, March 28, 2014


Shiny, silvery loving and strong.

Carbon fiber, aluminum, titanium,

controlled nano-chipped-face-flushed.

That’s my granpa.

Bio rhythms, any color he feels, he is,

Today silver, later green, red…

or almost invisible cloaked,

only his voice spoken,

hide and seek, then time for bed.

He reflects the sun so bright,

the moon the stars at night,

The trees in the forest,

cars go by.


My Granpa, I hold his finger silver as we walk.

I’m pinkish and in the sun too long, brown.


He talks about today, tomorrow, and yesterday

He’s very old they say;

new shiny-bright, silvery, his face smiles.

if you look closely do you begin to see,

you’d never know,

Only his eyes

they show something else again.

I ask but the answer I get,

“Living long does that,” makes no sense to me.

But Granpa, he’s there, not like dad or mother,

like me!

He said he accepted the mods, one of the first.

He looks down at me and whispers

in my ear, a tickle of a sound,

“hybrid, human brain and bot.”

I look up to him a lot,

He’s still my granpa is he not?

So what’s all the talk about?

I may be young but I wonder

what all the changes do:

Chipped and flesh,

I can’t wait until I get my turn

A hybrid human being chipped

like Granpa and then me?

how do they mesh?

to choose:


We know, and as others

suited up fine, the same,

hybrid, thoughts of evolution.

Just the next steps in the mud.


A Schrödinger Mouse

Nineteen years old no more be said.

It’s a fact the cat is dead.

So now with puss diseased

in my house there is a mouse.

Sometimes Definitely I hear one


Then other times think I, maybe a few?

Scurrying scratching in the wall,

then in the attic above us all.

I set a trap, it doesn’t take.

I lay some poison, it’s probably fake.

So I listen…………………………………. not a sound.

Not a scratch not a peep


Is it waiting for me to fall asleep

But then

and to the pantry my candies to eat?


In my house

dare I ask, do I have,

do I continue to look

 a Schrödinger mouse?

in my house

Thursday, March 27, 2014

A Promise

My 4 year old,
“Please daddy, don’t leave me.”

My then wife once stated,
“He’ll be the cop that shoots you
at your protest marches.”

Working forty hours or more:
pumping gas at midnights,
cleaning toilets on the 2nd shift,
attending college full time.

If anything
His plea stays with me
even today
sixty years later,
the promise to my self:
to leave a child again.

A second marriage.
Love lost or never there.
No matter.
The promise kept.

Saturday, March 15, 2014


The year is 1925 in a small laboratory at the University of Zurich. Annemarie, the wife of

the soon to be great professor, disrupts him in some thought experiment, his hand covered

in chalk and equations written all over the blackboard behind him.

“Yes Anne what is it now?”

“Erwin you just received a letter from the United States. It’s a legal document.”

“Read it to me,” he says in a dismissive manner.

She begins, “Dr. Erwin Rudolph Alexander Schrodinger, Professor University

Of Zurich, you are herby commanded to appear before the Federal District Court,

Hollywood, in the Republic of California to answer the following complaint:

ASPCA vs. Dr. Erwin Schrodinger…”

He interrupts, “the charge?”

“Cruelty to animals…” she replies.

“What are you talking about? This is insane.”

“Dear, it seems that your foul little pet mouse Micha, the one that disappeared,

that you blamed on me, is living in California with some artist as his protector or

something like that. They brought the complaint to the ASPCA.”

“And what does this idiotic complaint allege?”

Annemarie holds back a chuckle as she reads the complaint to make sure she has

all the facts correct.

“Well what does it state? I have work to do.”

Annemarie summarizes, “It goes on to state that Micha Mouse claims you

attempted to murder and not murder him by way of a wave function and superposition

experiment. Said mouse escaped by gnawing his way out of a wooded box designed to

possibly release a deadly poison, and then possibly not, within which he was held against

his will.”

Erwin interrupts her. “You mean to tell me that Micha, as smart as he might have

been, was smart enough to escape from here, find his way to a ship, cross the Atlantic,

and then manage to travel across the continent. And on top of that he moved in with this

artist or some such nonsense convincing her, I assume the artist is female, no man in his

right mind would play with a mouse and…”

Annemarie, her hands on her hips, documents scrunched in one hand, stares at

Erwin and says, “Whose pet mouse was Micha? And who taught him mathematics and to


Erwin stops. He rolled his eyes and says, “Yes you have a point. So Micha is in

the United States. He convinced some hare brained artist to take him in and now I’m

being sued and charged with cruelty to Micha.”

“Yes dear and it is California. And as I understand, California can be considered

a totally different reality.”

“Mein Gott! Annemarie, that gives me another idea. I’ll write a letter to Dr.

Einstein about the possibility of, what would you call it, hmmmm, let me think, parallel

realities? Does it work somewhat with my ideas on superposition. I’m not sure. I’ll have

to do the math.” He faces the blackboard, starts writing some equations when he turns to

his wife and asks, “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of joke?”

”No it is not. The letter was delivered by a messenger form the American


“Can I ignore it?”

“No, not at all,” she says.

“What do they really want? There’s got to be something about this. They can’t

actually expect me to travel to America to answer this absurd charge? And hiring a

lawyer would cost a fortune.”

“Dear, there is a separate note. It’s sealed.” Annemarie opens it, reads it and then

looks up at Erwin Schrodinger. “You are correct, again.”

“Of course, well?”

She continues, “The artist name is mentioned here but the document states we can

never disclose it. The artist states that Micha is a wonderful animal and is healthy. He

adds that as he understands it, Micha still belongs to you. And that Micha really has no

rights to stand on.”

“So what has that do with anything except when I get that mouse back…”

“There’s more,” Annemarie interrupts her husband again. “If you allow this artist

animator, aha an illustrator, to adopt Micha, he will have all the charges dropped. All you

have to do is sign the enclosed documents, give up all rights to Micha and any thing that

might become of him. There’s a signature and a paw print. How cute. By the way we can

never mention the artist’s name, ever.”

“Have you ever heard of him? I can’t even make out his signature,” says Erwin

looking the letter and the accompanying documents.

 No. He must be young,” she answers. “What wife would put up with a husband

with a nasty pet mouse?” She laughs at her own joke and gives Erwin a peck on the


He signs it and then says, “Give this copy to our lawyer and make sure the

original gets posted to the embassy as soon as possible. I have work to do. All this for a

mouse? My reputation is on the line for what?

“I have Rocky the neighbor’s cat here. We’ve become friends.” He points to a

very fat black and white Sylvester looking beast curled up on the desk. The cat opens one

green eye in a quite bored cat look. Erwin looks around and then says, “And I’ll use that

damned cat. He’s too stupid and lazy. And next time, I’m going to construct a steel box

just like Dr. Einstein suggested. And instead of poison I’ll use gunpowder. The explosion

will eliminate the contradiction of observation and observer and the linear combination of

possible states.”

Erwin stops and gives the almost sleeping cat a pet. “Yes you’re mine now and

to hell with that mouse. Imagine getting all wrapped up about a mouse. I have a class to


“Rerooow,” said Rocky as he curled up into a ball.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Dead Heading

Dead Heading to the terminals.
GPS the hidden controller.
They all leave like clock work.
Picks the load and picks the road.
Organized at the highest levels.
Leeway given for their speed;
Invisible to the badge.
They have deadlines to meet.
The system’s huge fleet.
Hammer down, pedal to the metal.
Polished Chromium Pipes.
Sweet the sound, the pitch, the timbre.
Exhaust tuned, running true
matched to engine and the fuel.
Blue smoke, faintly, hued.
Running hard
Like there is no tomorrow.
GPS, he knows where they are.
GPS, he knows when they will get
To the point.
The exhaust plume,
the smell,
Deep from the earth,
Up from the wells.
Burning fire,
compression ignition.
Metal contained hell.
GPS we know where they are.
GPS we know when they
Reach that point.
Sekhmet, Perses, Shiva and Kali
Senior drivers in the union.
Of all?
Of all remember the old days
And today?
They see, and saw it coming.
Shiva and Kali over the radio
Internet connects the rest.
Trucks on the road.
Full up loads.
To the ports load one more
The parts fit together.
Never more.
Gabriel Trucking rules the road.
Gabriel sings to the country tune.
Waiting for the call and add new fuel.
Feeds the fire deep below.
The exhaust note changes.
The pitch is shrill.
An increase in power and never more.
Destruction in the wakes.
the tune they make.
Shiva, Sekhmet, Kali, Perses
Nod in unison
As Gabriel emails all.
Fuel systems change over
The vehicles’ scream the change
Exhaust pitch harmonics
Road beneath the big wheels vanish.

It’s End of the world
As we know it.
As Gabriel calls the tune.
GPS, God’s Planned System.