nano-birthing chamber

Diamond nanowires are prepared inside carbon nanotubes by thermal annealing of diamantane-4,9-dicarboxylic acid under a hydrogen atmosphere.

nano-birthing chamber

infant cables in birthing chamber, reflexively bump, identical in the tub.
spidery filament flips in one bound: challenge to other nanostructures.
lost, lacking choices: fate not faith. blink and groan. stare and moan.
fluid in full slosh mode, suckling in pulp. dimples. blobs. formations
at the site of development. protective effect confirmed, uncompromisingly.

in grey waves, they majestically spiral and peak. filaments fracture,
independently race ‘round centrifugal tubules. relentless rotation.
ripples pass. progeny of the populace. reasonless, irrationally irritating,
come to golden light, on silvery rivers: (calm in blue space.) rubble fills the void,
incinerating contamination. struggle. wind filled. (never enters the hole.)

bubbles crack, smack and rumble: toothlessly grind to rubbery pulp.
super-novae, many, many magnitudes smaller, a perplexing state
of isolation, in a venue where surface tension creates cacophony.
no human will hear their dialogues and screeches: design of creation.
not one nano-being will sensorially recollect this first experience.

rumbles and moils in distracting high frequency. tenuous tendrils.
temporal travesty. trickery. tunneling. and then tranquil connectively.
unfamiliar abstractions. unexpected measurements on the boundary.
patches are blank spots in their memory: a leak in techno-verse.
fiber of space-damaged, roughly, transformedly processed matter.

they share a common experience: crests of hyper length cosmological waves ―
but smaller in number, surrounded by dense mathematics. jerky gravitational
spin down, phase factor one, conjugated complexity, nestling intentions.
in the birth canal: globes, branches, ringlet-tubes and electron waves.
nano-baby cables percolate into birth. emergence. vitalization. actualization.

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Written for and posted on:

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 94

Image credits: Wiley Online Library

lower body wrap

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas

fabric wrinkles in her hand:
uneven, asymmetric, flexible,
button-less, never scratchy.

effect and causation.
a careful calibration.
dedication, decoration,
operation, improvisation:

drape it.
throw it.
peel it like paste —
a belly-dancer’s veil.

mass consumption.
don’t’ make a presumption.
a classic resumption.
show a little gumption:

show a little tit.
show a little ass.
sprinkle rectus abodominus.
raw leg’s healthy sex appeal.

melt into subduction,
in this place of seduction.
conduction, abduction…
don’t make a big production —
it’s a cheap reproduction.

rich colored background.
soft colored skin.
fabric drenched in softener.
softly tactile.
soft-on-soft.
soft-on-wet.
ahhhh…
wrap it up.

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 163

Also posted on:

Open Link Night ~ 91

Image credits: The Horrible Forest by *pesare on deviantart

Reactivated

The Horrible Forest

Reactivated

i

children hang along a tree-lined street.
faint footsteps on pine needles.
thumps, over stumps, so low —
bleakly, sometimes faintly.
shuffles repeat. groans. more suffering.

the children swing deeply into the branches.
time to hide. quick — to a place without life.
the beast of the earth was released.
a time of darkness befalls the community.

ii

the town is now a forest.
communion has been rare.
at the popular lake shore,
picnics no longer.

mourning sounds permeate the wind.
familiar voices; it is a requiem.
for one hundred years,
they have loved and shared
from afar, in fright.

now, their cocked hats hide their eyes.
lingering chaos severed many ties,
for words could not unravel paranoid lies.
voices of neighbors, no longer recognized.
there’s a pain in their middles —
famished? hollow?
no, just empty.

iii

after each  is renamed,
no more elemental silence.
sagging, swollen monotony
replaced by a dignified pattern of sound.
roots melted, beneficence revived.
developed from dirt, but not dirty —
they are crystals waiting to be polished.

far-off fringe of dawn floods in unfixed flashes.
some long to lock limbs.
others require un-regimented rearrangements.
autonomous potential that was buried away,
once more shall breed accomplishment.

they roll and crawl forward and
once more, become capable of
merriment, humanity and fellowship:
reawakening civilization.

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Written for:

POETICS: THE ANECDOTE

Image credits: The Horrible Forest by *pesare on deviantart

First Rose

First Rose

first bud of spring
squint at her glory —
spotless, purified
ready to be deflowed
(dare I)
sacrifice her chastity
so that no neighbor will
sniff, lick, or covet
with pleasure.

soul
sound
soil
grounded love.
harmonious silence.

I cannot dismiss this debut:
a diary of yellowed redolence,
nonchalant simplicity.
people of the white rose.
queen of the red rose.
I am of the yellow rose.
the first, my only, soft, unique
blossomed rose, ready to go.

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Written for:

Just Say What You Don’t Mean: Irony

Photo Credit: Bat-Ami Gordin  © 2013 all rights reserved, credit if you use it, please.

Where Is the Food When Mother Is Not?

Yerka Jacek – Mind Fields Between Heaven and Hell

Where is the food
when mother is not,
searching — plates and bowls
hit or miss? Open fridge.
Ransack cabinets.

I read a fairy tale,
that food grows ready:
creative cuisine,
not difficult to get:
a hundred people —
a hundred eggs.

Without Mom, a sudden collapses?
Everywhere needs an eye —
Or the glassware might fall:
a place to cry
a place to laugh.

Here’s Mom.
The harvest
we will collect.
Enthusiastic cheers.
The smell goes down the hall.

I shall help.
Always help.
Help in the kitchen.

Yes, Mom is back.
Heat up the pot.
No more stale, old
Piss-water tea.
Take a broom and dustpan.
Sweep up confusion.

The cold kitchen
will soon be warm.

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 162

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 98