a baby

suspends

her crying

for a

moment

to acknowledge

one of

her purple

socks has

fallen off.

then she

resumes:

a primal

wail

stemming

from a

need to

be held.

and for a moment,

i am useful,

though far from

maternal.

monologue from a piece yet to be written

So, when Ann Druyan was falling in love with Carl Sagan, I mean the Carl Sagan, she went to a laboratory and recorded her brainwaves and heartbeat. And that data was turned into sound. And that sound was part of the data that was put on the Voyager Golden Record by Carl Sagan and shot out into space, that reads "the sounds of earth." Isn't that out there, even for Carl Sagan? To me, falling in love is one of the most unscientific things in human life. You can have "a feeling in your bones" or your gut, a lump in your throat, your heart can melt or be fluttering like a hummingbird outside your ribcage and the culminations of all these sensations is generally thought of as "chemistry" between two people. But what causes it? I mean, what really makes two people fall in love. Or, perhaps more importantly, what makes one person fall in love while the object of their affections wants no part of it? Sounds like an unbalanced formula to me. Anyway, Carl Sagan launches this golden record out into space, and it's intended for aliens or future humans to discover. And possibly try attempt communication with us. There are 55 languages, sounds of earth like elephants, trains, and laughter, music from around the world. And finally, Ann Druyan's brainwaves. The physiology of love. I can just picture the aliens listening to those brainwaves and scratching their heads? "What is this?" they'll say. And then set to work decoding, quantifying one of the greatest mysteries of human existence.

Easter

Easter Bunny didn't come by this year
and it kind of pissed me off.

I wanted to wake up
and go egg-hunting,
gorging myself on the spoils:
Cadbury, Reese's, and Starburst Jellybeans.

Guess you can't count on rabbits.
Some are always running late
for important dates.

Others get in trouble in
the gardens of Scottish men.

And still others escape from
county fairs
and wander the islands
in the Northwest.

Because of the inconsistency of rabbits,
I've resigned myself to the fact
that I may just have go to the store tomorrow,
buy some half-priced candy,
and hide it myself.