in the neighborhood

in the neighborhood

 

in the neighborhood of make-believe

it’s always a beautiful day

blue, sunlit (spotlit), houses even

trolley rolls making celestina music

it could not be otherwise, since

it’s make-believe, and we would imagine

only ever placid scenes, i guess

 

the studio was in pittsburgh, home of

contrary weather, snow, ice, deep

temperatures cold or hot

and much is changeable throughout

the day, though i don’t think this means

dissembling—

 

after all,

we make this up

for and by our host, the

peaceful man

 

i might wish for different days,

something cloudy for a change

maybe an unobtrusive rainfall or the

kind of snow just right for angels and

snowpeople or the kind of hot that takes

us joyfully to swimming pools

or inside icecream shops

 

this would make my make-believe, i guess

different skies for different days

without destruction caused

by anything, and that

 

would be made-up, indeed

eschewing tempests of reality

taking only friendly patterned skies with us to

meet the king of superstitious days

 

c l couch

 

 

TARS631, Attribution, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20684319

Linie 43, Wien

 

Made Up

Made Up

 

It’s Sunday

Maybe I should think something

Religious

I’m two days behind the Jews

Only one day after

The Adventists

And for those who never keep a sabbath

Why miss out on

The rest

 

It’s inside-out

Or should be

Take the time to know the heart

Four chambers to walk through

A mind that is a ride

In a synapse car

 

None of this is religion

But there’s something about

Wonderfully made

That comes to mind, while

I’m on the synapse-ride

In a park with a

Neuron saucer

 

What would I configure

If I had to make up me

 

It’s been done with

Someone who has more

Art and skill than

I shall ever have

 

In fact, the one who

Made the ride to

Set me on this course

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://www.laboratoryequipment.com/news/2017/06/hacking-human-brain-lab-made-synapses-artificial-intelligence

 

‘Scape

‘Scape

 

A knoll of pine trees

Tops too tall to see

A circle implied

Because there is a seat

At zero point

 

And snow falls:

Flakes congealed into comic blobs

That fall in quiet plops

On branches and,

When straighter, onto

The granite surface

 

The needly floor,

Covering a sleepy earthen

Solemn way to

Narnia or Middle Earth

 

No lamppost,

Elf, or orc, either, only a winter

Day on planetary sides

Where worlds meet

 

A place made up

And does exist

For I am here

 

C L Couch