You’d be Surprised

At the open-air bazaar of ideas hangs

A smog of apocrypha,

So thick,

You could bottle it,

For any one eager and gullible enough,

To buy.

Yet filtering the miasma,

Of misinformation,

For its kernels of truth,

Shows how easy it is,

For certainty to be crowded-out

by lies.

It covers your face,

With thick soot,

The smell lingers

And stains your clothes-

The gasses

will burn your eyes.

But just because the truth is scarce,

Does not mean it’s not worth the trouble,

Of uncovering-

Keep your hazmat suit handy,

And your goggles on.

Prospecting is a hard days work,

For little pay,

But, nevertheless,

You will find it enriching

If you see it through.

Royal Jelly

An odd, viscous concoction,

Consisting mostly of water,

Amino acids,

Sugars,

Vitamins,

And other nutrients,

Served up,

Neat,

In a queen cup.

One protein,

Royalactin,

Gives aspiring queen’s,

Political careers,

Traction.

They feast,

Learn etiquette,

Mature,

And leave,

To settle-down,

Fill power vacuums,

And form factions.

Et Cetera, et cetera

Please,

Spare me the details,

Your verbosity,

Will only derail,

The course of the story.

Your memory will fail,

Halfway through the tale,

And it will all be gone with the wind.

In it’s place: an awkward laugh,

A mystified grumble,

Or even a comment about how old you’re getting.

You’ll wonder why your memory lapsed,

Though this is mere curiosity,

As you free-fall down the rabbit hole,

Stroking your chin,

At terminal velocity.

Eyes to the heavens,

You’ll see,

The entrance to the chasm,

Shrink,

Until,

It becomes a twinkling,

North Star,

Imposter.

Views From Lalaland

I’m happy to hobnob,

In the enclave,

Despite the mobs,

And the roads unpaved,

It’s a beautiful place.

Stay away from the villlages,

Those folks aren’t known for hospitality,

Lack dilligence,

And have no mentality,

To speak of.

Climb scenic Mount Delirium,

But don’t read the signs,

And their false criteria,

They’ll try to trick you.

Inhale some helium,

Spin three times,

Stand at the summit,

And survey the land before you,

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Good thing you’ve got no work to do,

Stay as long as you’d like.

Boston Dynamics

Years ago,

What was just depiction,

We now know,

Is not fiction.

Mechanical animals,

Seemed laughable,

Impractical,

But now they’re factual,

Downright palpable,

But not infallible.

They’re slow and loud,

Too pricey to make crowds,

Not even endowed,

With body shrouds.

Limbs twisted,

Moving pistons,

Exposed systems,

Soon to be,

Big business.

Mechanical mules,

Climbing like cats,

In need of fuel,

That isn’t grass.