# Plaid



## Capstone

I've always been partial to plaid.
Can't really say why, just something 
about the various ways...
the lines are crossed and colors often clash.

And those that don't ...still define each other
in checkered relationships that rely
on a rigidly structured segregation
(or should I say _compartmentalization_?),

in which it's not often clear 
as to which color plays the dominant role...
or for that matter which roles are dominant to begin with,
like those are matters of opinion.

Please don't ask why,
and it might just be me,
but there's something all-too-human...
in plaid.


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## Big Black Dog

And your point is???????


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## Capstone

Big Black Dog said:


> And your point is???????



...not nearly so transparent as _yours_.


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## Capstone

*For What It's Worth*

From those who know the meaning of hard knocks --
a blanket, some discarded styrofoam,
the little things that make a house a home,
an alley and a filthy cardboard box;
to those who live instead the life of ease --
the art collections and exotic cars,
the vintage wines and finest of cigars,
the villas on their sprawling properties;
to those between the riches and the street --
the worries and the stacks of unpaid bills,
the cheaper transportation (hold the frills),
the paychecks with the ends that rarely meet:

despite what life has taught us all from birth,
money's _not_ the coinage of self worth.


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## Baruch Menachem

writing vers libre is like playing tennis without a net.... Robert Frost


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## uscitizen

Plaid is when you have a fun time getting laid.


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## Capstone

*Vortext*

Over and under and spinning around, 
looking for anything nobody's found, 
forced to interpret their holiest scrolls 
(pondering meanings they haven't unwound), 

out to avoid all "the wages" and tolls 
dealt by The Lord to less fortunate souls 
cursed from the womb with inquiring minds 
doubtful of stories with so many holes, 

guzzling down the communionists' wines, 
crunching on flavorless crackers and rinds, 
smacking and slurping and falling in line, 
sucked up and into _The Vortext Divine. _


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## Capstone

Baruch Menachem said:


> writing vers libre is like playing tennis without a net.... Robert Frost




Yes, the guidance of strict form is a tough security blankie to grow out of...


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## Capstone

*Hunky Jesus*

Swimmer&#8217;s body &#8220;in the flesh&#8221;,
all muscled-up and toned;
scanty linen, April fresh,
adorns the holy stones;
fair-complected, honey-locked,
a studded crown of thorns;
Cultic Hero, fully-cocked 
and loaded, pious porn.


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## Capstone

Okay, only one more tonight: a truly deep one...

*Twinkie*

Enriched wheat flour,
niacin,
a folic acid kiss;
ferrous sulphate, 
thiamine,
a riboflavin twist;

syrup, sugar
(fructose too), 
hydrogenated soy
(so what, if only 
"partially"?),
canola oily joy! 

Baking soda,
sodium,
the gum of cellulose;
and whey before 
the leavenings,
some starch to keep 'em close;

a pinch of salt, 
then lecithin,
some _mono_glycerides,
then salt and salt
and salt again
the bland _di_glycerides;

then pyrophosphate,
calcium,
some polysorbate too, 
a spritz of stearol 
lactylate;
at last, we&#8217;re nearly through!

To crown the spongy,
golden treats
and make them come alive,
a splash of color:
forty red
and yellow number five.


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## Capstone

*Tears of Steel*

A kid of thirteen on a roll,
I skated past a sobbing soul --
the setting Sun revealed to me
a waterfall beyond control.

This man, a two-fold mystery,
sparked youthful curiosity.
I couldn't help but wonder why
he shed his tears so openly.

I flipped a bitch to ask the guy,
"What happened, Man, to make _you_ cry?",
I had another question too, 
or three on deck and standing by.

He raised an eye of red and blue 
and looked at me as though he knew
the underlying thought behind
my questioning of this taboo.

"A grown man's cry", he softly whined,
"is not among the shameful kind.
It takes some strength to show your tears
aren't corked and bottled in your mind...

and kept inside for deeper fears --
the thought of how a '_Man_' appears
to those who'd make a judgement call
based solely on his fallen tears."

Then feeling just a little small,
still curious as I recall,
I had at least one question more
for which I would no longer stall:

"Hey, what's the super get-up for?".
I bluntly asked the guy who wore
the outfit worn by Superman
(of whom I was a major fan!).


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## Sherry

Plaid makes me think of men in kilts which makes me think of...


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## Capstone

Sherry said:


> Plaid makes me think of men in kilts which makes me think of...



Funny -- it has the opposite effect on me. Shades of the Catholic schoolgirl uniform, maybe? Rest assured, I always visualize a fully mature woman wearing it...


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## Capstone

*Skirt Chase*

Skirted Beauty, won't you tell,
what's underneath your satin walls?
To learn the secrets that you keep,
I'll follow through the Hallowed Halls.

To the Staircase and beyond,
I'll match your long and silky stride,
for the _prospect_ of a glimpse --
the hope of seeing what you hide.

And if by chance I catch a peek,
of this, My Love, you can be sure:
I'll tell no other man alive.
I won't betray a trust as pure...

as THAT you've finally given me,
the lucky one who followed through
to see at last the Naked Truth:
what's underneath is purely you.


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## Capstone

*Of Splattered Flies and Windshields*

I wonder what went through your mind
(_besides_ what's plain for all to see),
before the impact redefined
the matter so transparently.

I wonder, from a thousand eyes,
how every _single_ thing appears;
and when your vision multiplies,
how many more the fallen tears?

The sort of things no human knows,
the doubt my own reflection brings,
the questions I can only pose
to broken, disembodied wings,

and _try_ to 'wash and wipe' away
those haunting remnants of your plight,
as stubborn bits and pieces pay
their tribute to your final flight.


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## Capstone

*Litter Fine*

Discarded, torn, and crumpled up,
a wrapper in a swirling gust,
she partners with a plastic cup
to quickly share some gutter lust.

The former _Snickers_ entering
the latter lying on his side
that still displays the _Burger King_...
she blows off on their windy ride.

Along the curb they toss and turn --
entangled , thrashing all around --
they consumate without concern
their trashy meeting on the ground.

Though one had sheathed a candy bar
and one once held the _Mountain Dew_ --
a brief encounter sweeter far
than any else they ever knew.


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## Capstone

*The Dig* (_Obligatory Villanelle_)

Dig deeper than you ever have before, 
to seize the evolutionary day -- 
no stone unturned in what you're searching for. 

To turn the key unlocking Darwin's Door, 
retrieve the 'fossil record' from the clay,
dig deeper than you ever have before. 

From shovels full of zinc and iron ore, 
unbury truths within your sifting tray -- 
no stone unturned in what you're searching for. 

Uncover, from the ceiling to the floor, 
embedded gems of knowledge -- chip away --
dig deeper than you ever have before. 

The gold for which "philosophers" explore, 
reflecting in the dark, to light the way -- 
no "stone" unturned in what you're searching for. 

Discover what the future holds in store, 
from buried legacies in pure decay. 
Dig deeper than you ever have before -- 
no stone unturned in what you're searching for...


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## Capstone

*Untitled*

*J*ust beyond the 'empty tomb', an
*e*verlasting specter looms: from
*s*ordid tales of _'fixion_ grew this
*u*ndead faith in long dead jews, whose
*s*tories stoke(d) the flames of war -- a

*C*ataclysmic kind of lore. What
*h*oly authors penned in blood, their
*r*eaders use(d) to fuel 'the flood' --
*i*_nquisitively_, with a sword, they've
*s*pread _the love_ of Christ the Lord
*t*o every corner of the world.


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## Capstone

*Foreign Soil*

And piled, mounting, rising high,
the skeletons now scrape the sky
above this god-forsaken land
where Screaming Eagles jump and die.

And mark the tracks of tank command
that turn to red the golden sand
beneath the caterpillar tread --
the blood upon the throttle hand.

And leave the dying and the dead --
the War Machine must roll ahead
to _liberate_ this foreign soil
from naked tyranny and dread...

(...and every precious drop of oil).


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## Dr.House

Plaid...  Dead men don't wear it....


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## Capstone

Dr.House said:


> Plaid...  Dead men don't wear it....



Some of us 'wear it' in our genes.

Death: what a comforting thought...


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## Capstone

*Inside Job*

Never mind the physics _(molten steel
that ran like tears down stories never told)_
of demolitions secretly controlled
and falsely waving flags that sealed the deal.

Never mind the motives _(black and gold
and greedy hearts of war too cold to feel
the pain of innocents who'll NEVER heal)_
of those corrupt enough to be so bold.

Never mind the casualties, reveal
the truth that 9/11 was foretold --
a "new Pearl Harbor" waiting to unfold
the flag of so-called _patriotic_ zeal...


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## Capstone

*Keep Off the 'Shrooms*
(The Revelation of John the Divine)

Munching on some mushrooms, suddenly...
I saw a beast rise up out of the sea
with seven heads, ten horns (on each a crown),
and on the heads the name of blasphemy.

The pelt was kind of like a leopard's, brown
and spotted up; but oddly, looking down,
I saw his feet were much more like a bear's, 
then up again to see a lion's frown! 

Some dragon gave him power and an air
of great authority upon a chair,
because, I think, of his horrendous scar --
a wound that must have left him dead, I swear!

The world began to marvel, near and far,
and worship both the dragon and the scarred.
"Who's like this beast!", I heard somebody say,
"Can anyone defeat this _Mourning Star_?!" 

And then was given him a certain way
to speak abominations night and day
to anyone with ears with which to hear
the blasphemies he wanted to convey:


*"Who leads into captivity 
shall go into captivity! 
Who lives by clinging to the sword 
shall perish by the ringing sword!

Here is the patience and the faith of saints!"*

And then I saw another beast was coming from the earth,
with horns of lamb or ram descent, a voice of dragon birth,
he exercised the power of the first to break the seal,
and caused the Earth to worship one whose deadly wound was healed.

He conjured fire in the sky within the sight of men,
deceiving them to spread the word to every nation's kin. 
For great or small, and rich or poor, and free or bond alike,
the time had come to take a mark or die on hunger strike;

for nobody could buy or sell without that little mark
_within_ their brows or _in_ their hands, embracing in The Dark
the name or number of the beast (whichever one they picked)
numeric'ly denoted as "six hundred, sixty-six".

Then waking from that juicy trip, a final vision came to me:
the purple vomit, blowing chunks of funky mushrooms by the sea.


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## Capstone

*What "Is" Is*

What is is from what used to be --
from what once was, that is --
for what's to come is never free
from what is now that used to be,

nor has what was but is no more 
escaped from what has always been
_evolving_ from what's passed before
through life and death's revolving door...


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## Capstone

*Unmarked*

Let's walk between the cemetery stones
inscribed with all that matters in the end:
the names and dates above the buried bones
of lovers, family members, and our friends.

Let's pause before the smallest one of those:
a crumbling little block of chalky white
atop the grave for whom god only knows,
whose epitaph has faded out of site.


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## Capstone

*Here and There*

There also hear:
They're all so here.
Their 'all' so here --
_there_ also _here_ --
they're also here!
They're All. So hear.


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## Capstone

*Alter Boys*

Collared, robed, and vested 
in cathedrals full of lies,
the men of cloth molested
and their mounting alibis

provide no absolution 
to completely altered boys,
nor pay the restitution
owed the former priestly toys.

Instead the former playthings
face the retroactive crime:
abuse that each new day brings
at the hands of Father Time.


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## Capstone

*The Face of Time*

Cold, unmoving, porcelain,
expressionless and void,
from most accounts an ugly mask
reluctantly destroyed.

Ceramic features turned to dust
and pieces on the floor
reveal the depth of lonliness
One hadn't seen before.

Now in the mirror One sees through
the delicate façade,
no longer does it obfuscate
the naked face of 'God'.

And in the polished stainless steel
that's marking time upon my wrist,
I _watch_ the quarter-seconds steal
the minutes from the solipsist.


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## Capstone

*The Story of US*

An Eagle, once majestic, soared above
all other birds of prey, of song, or flight,
on massive wings propelling (left and right)
_together_ for the sake of life and love.

An Eagle, once majestic, fed her young,
atop the craggy cliffs above the sea,
to help them grow to self-sufficiency
and independence from their mother's tongue.

An Eagle, once majestic, fluttered down--
her right wing wouldn't flap beside her left,
not even though it brought her certain death
among the lowly creatures on the ground.

An Eagle, once majestic, now decays
beneath the sky she ruled in better days.


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## Capstone

*The Abomination of Desolation*

Learning daily of the devastation,
lessons wrought as total deprivation,
teaching elementary desolation,
failing in the social revelation,
doomed to mirror the passing generation:
educating this (abomi)nation.

And in affect, that bleak abomination,
perpetuated future devastation,
by leaving heirs of total deprivation
the ethics of their moral desolation&#8230;
to crush the hope of any revelation
for students of the coming generation --

the hope, in fact, of every generation.
But can we heal the sore abomination?
Reverse the Inquisition's devastation?
Construct, amid the literal deprivation,
a learned oasis in this desolation?
Can we beget a 'Holy' revelation,

whose nature is a human revelation?
Spontaneously push our generation
away from dogma-based abomination,
beyond the shadows cast by devastation
from crosses of Golgothic deprivation,
where not a soul would feel the desolation?

And from the absence of that desolation,
renewed divinely in our revelation,
Humanity might spark the generation
of education sans abomination,
without the fear of future devastation.
If not a total lack of deprivation,

at least a lack of total deprivation
would finally erase the &#8220;desolation&#8221;
that's bound within the Book of Revelation;
as students of the Final Generation
would understand the true &#8220;abomination&#8221;
had always been RELIGION's devastation.

This is my generation&#8217;s Revelation
to The Abomination's Desolation:
your deprivation was _your_ devastation.


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## Capstone

*Barflies*

Deceit, the stark
and naked truth
reflecting lies 
wherein she stares:
decanter's tawdry
lone vermouth
upon the rocks --
the flesh she bares.

Enter the shark:
the razor tooth,
with blood-shot eyes,
he coldly glares
into her swiftly 
fading youth,
and on the rocks...
he'll taste her wares.


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## Capstone

*To the Builder of Sandcastles*

A lonely, everlasting point of view
amid the ebb and flow of lapping waves
that bear the palls to underwater graves
of all created near the restless blue,

a sculptor works alone upon the shore;
a low-tide architect of watered sands;
a master, notwithstanding filthy hands
that shape the 'scrapers of medieval lore...

to CRASH back down to Earth in tidal highs...
to drown the castles in the lowest lows...
to cause the precious work to decompose,
denying only "Him" that sweet demise.

My God, how fucking helpless must you be...
to watch as your creation's swept to sea?


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## Capstone

*A Single Leaf Remains*

Though Autumn tried persuading him
to follow others where she blew,
he took a stand out on a limb,
by holding fast to what he knew.

And still he clings courageously.
What held the rains will gather snow
and wither on defiantly,
as if to say, "I won't let go!"

I'm not like him.

I'm not courageous, strong or wise;
the sweet persuasion of the wind
has carried me through stormy skies...
and left me here to count the sins.

So in October's chilling breeze,
I stand amid that pile of sin,
and rake the leaves and memories...
and wish that I'd been more like him.


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## Capstone

*The Prevailing Wind*

In silence posed the broken stone
a question to its kin:
for what on Earth can stand alone
against the mighty wind?

And for that matter look around
amid the fallen wood,
and see the strength that _wasn't_ found
in numbers when it stood.

Nor on the rural countryside,
on mountain, hill, or dune,
not even in the city's light
is humankind immune.

And so for stone, and wood, and men,
together or alone,
the answer's in the carnage when
prevailing winds have blown.


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## IlarMeilyr

Steve Martin was right.

He often is.

*Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid*.

There's a reason for that.


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## Capstone

*Nightfall*

Who's left among the laity
awakened at the break of dawn?
Whose dream is but a memory?
Who has the will to carry on?

Who's coming, now the day is done,
to mourn the passing of the light?
To watch another fallen sun
give way to yet another night?


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## Capstone

*Where?*

Where children learn to teach the old,
the weak to bear the strong;
where those who can will give up hope,
and those who can't will carry on;
where brave men run away and hide,
and cowards stay to face their fears;
where those who talk and listen well
to hear the deathly silence: HERE.


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## Capstone

*Tsunami 2004*

A broken shell upon the shore;
a spirit washed away;
a little girl alive no more
this cruel December Day.

Now hair entangled with debris
won't hide her guiltless face.
Now blackened eyes peer out to sea...
but as for life, without a trace.

And yet her fate, though truly sad,
seems somehow less severe
than that of those like Mom and Dad,
alive enough to shed their tears...

for one they lost ironically
to such a brutal wave
that swept away indifferently
the love they couldn't save.

Now cradled in her Dad's embrace,
the shell for whom they cry;
their little girl has left this place...
but didn't wave goodbye.


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## Capstone

*The Greatest Moment*

I've been shallow;
I've been deep;
I've lived a life
in waking sleep;

and chasing dreams
throughout the days,
I've spent the nights 
in other ways.

I've driven fast;
I've cruised the strips;
I've tasted of
the moistened lips;

and reaching heights
in tangled thresh,
I've felt the warmth
of inner flesh.

I've scaled the walls;
I've sailed the seas;
I've soared above
my enemies;

and striking high 
the fatal blow,
I've stood atop
the conquered foe.

But looking back
on years of strife,
the greatest moment
of my life...

was on the day
my kid was born...
_and I was there_
to clip the cord.


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## Capstone

*Chapter II: No Form, No Rhyme; Just Reason*

*The Size of Time*

What if increments of time
were complete rotations
of finite diameter
and constant speed
(say that of light)?

And what if the sizes
of those rotations
constituted acceleration 
or deceleration, as the case may be...

in relation to rotations 
of various diameters, 
so that if I were driving at 55 MPH
for a solid hour, I'd be traversing...

a distance equivalent to that
of the rotational diameter of an hour
at C?


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## Capstone

*Reinterpreting Redshift*

Think of two
rapidly deflating 
(but stationary)
balloons in a box,
and of the perspective
from the surface
of one or the other.

The other balloon 
might just appear
to be moving away,
when in reality 
it would simply be
shrinking in relation
to the space available
inside the box.

Imagine if, instead 
of space residing 
in the Universe,
the Universe resides in _it_;
so that the redshift
often cited in support
of an ever expanding 
and accelerating cosmos
has been misinterpreted...

and the Universe
is actually shrinking...


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