phones....keeping quiet...

phones killed the sexiness of the streets..
     - joel meyerowitz

walk the streets in any city,
the paths of a wooded land,
the trails along oceans and around lakes..
aisles in whole foods and co-ops..

where is the
appealing,
beguiling,
enticing,
foxiness
of the human race?

glued
plastered
affixed
pasted
to a
smart phone in hand,
blue tooth in ear..
eyes - glassy
ears - listening
to a
small voice
on the line
in a box
while all the while
we have gone AWOL
for one another
in the flesh..
the flash of a smile -
the catch of the eye..

chapter 12
ON TYRANNY
- timothy snyder
make eye contact and small talk

instead we are eavesdropping
on hundreds of conversations
that have nothing whatsoever
to do with us..

she told him NO a million times..
use the big orange saucepan -
don't tell mom about this, promise?
i sold all my shares this morning -
where is the toilet paper you just brought home?
how many downdogs can you do in a day?
pick up the mess in the front yard before i get home or i'll...
cancer, i think..?
i looked at the house..way too much money..
meet me in the deli by the olive bar -
she's on some kind of drug that makes her..
what a sunset! you are missing out here..
alaska?

remember the days when we would actually
meet someone new at the car wash?
on a bus?
in the cereal section?
tree-dancing?

'tis time to put the thing down..
leave it in the car..
leave it at home, for that matter ~

get sexy again..
even if you are olde and broken..
make it real as santana advises ~
fall in love
with the sound of the waves
the rasp of the streets
your very own footprints


keeping quiet

now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

this one time upon the earth,
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

it would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.

the fishermen in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.

those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.

what i want shouldn’t be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
i want nothing to do with death.

if we weren’t unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,
if we could do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would
interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive.

now i will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and i’ll go.
                 ~ neruda