poetry & engineering

     Where does the poet fit into an engineering culture that has nothing but contempt for the actual physical world, that values not things-in-themselves but how they can be telegraphed into other "advantages"?
     Where does a poet fit into an engineering culture that projects time as horizontal in order to devise design & apply its ample abbreviates- a stridency that ironically defeats itself by fostering greater necessity & delivering not the fullness of time but rendering it a "fugitive measure"?

'Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.''

-Sylvia Plath

my view also

I maintain that truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. That is my point of view, and I adhere to that absolutely and unconditionally. Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organized; nor should any organization be formed to lead or coerce people along a particular path. ... This is no magnificent deed, because I do not want followers, and I mean this. The moment you follow someone you cease to follow Truth. I am not concerned whether you pay attention to what I say or not. I want to do a certain thing in the world and I am going to do it with unwavering concentration. I am concerning myself with only one essential thing: to set man free. I desire to free him from all cages, from all fears, and not to found religions, new sects, nor to establish new theories and new philosophies
-Krishnamurti

directions

how do we cope
without telephone numbers
scribbled on a 3d class envelope?

time

Time the cackling witch
    brings all things to flower
and in half an hour
    leaves them in a ditch

Zaca

Jangling down that beach road
in the old Baja beater

no windows    no doors
all gauges broken or missing

A part of the sky & mountains

Spontaneous laughter
Rolls out of my throat

Giddy
At my vastly improbable fortune

dreamy

    We reserve the word 'dreamy' to apply to that soft wind that arrives in the tropical heat of the Baja night, that runs across the Southern Ocean under a thousand Mexican stars & makes a little sleep possible on the flat thatch roof