Poem: What Next!
It seems that after a period of five months of wearing masks, they are having a detrimental effect on users, on our voices and the shape and size of our mouths and lips.
Our mouths are shrinking and this is mainly in the region of our lips. In a new study funded by three International organizations dealing with the ears, nose, throat and mouth. Our mouths do not like to be covered and should not be covered continually. Open and uncovered faces are needed for a more normal mouth and lip sizes, along with robust mouths, lips and healthier lungs.
Disorders that were extremely rare before COVID-1984 are now jumping to the forefront of medical disorder and disease. Shrinking Lip Syndrome (SLS) has gone up some 15,000% in a matter of five months in the world. Oral Cavity Collapse (OCC) has skyrocketed. Everything from tooth loss and tooth color dulling. Tongue atrophy and fasciculation is epidemic in some places and has risen some 1400% worldwide.
... I have reached a measure of greater understanding of who I am, and am proud of my abilities, the skills and talents I have had to achieve just to remain off the street and not a homeless man. To have taken advantage fully of the many gifts personally, but have not achieved the success in those that I should have had, all those that were given, along with the emotional baggage and emotional immaturity and insecurity and weirdness sometimes that I can be. I am a greater artist even though, condition stopped me from painting. I have made many inroads into music and my guitar and carpentry and working with my hands; my writing of poetry and storytelling which has helped me to develop a way into my own mind and find out where I falter with language. I am an obsessive dictionary reader, always unsure of my use of the language...
Eight-carbon molecules in rivers of waste, and the sun in a sack cloth hauls itself up again into the sky. And looks down in disgust at what was…a good idea.
These mayfly lives, passing through and piling up, one upon the other as sediments on the basement of this world. Built up in that wake of seconds upon seconds. Relent.
Red cushion for a place to sit, amidst rancor. Nihilism for a heart, and reluctance. And crazed mystics still keep pushing shopping carts up hills of abuse...
I was painting ten paintings the other day. In the music studio and lost an idea among a pile of dead poems sitting on a shelf,
it was a good idea!
It was something about the sound a bird makes after a terrible storm;
for the world is stilled and made over completely in that single solitary second.
This is not the only world…by far...
by Michael Burns
The versions of old stories took on a life of their own. The sheer amount of time involved, expressed itself as well. It began to no longer be a campfire tale, an interesting thing one speaks about on a long voyage. It seemed it became the most logical answer to that age-old problem -- well, wonder that is...many people tried to exploit it, they push mystery into what otherwise was a simple thing. Claimed they had inside information. Claimed all kinds of things. Swore to high heavens they knew someone who, knew someone...told lies, to impress their friends or lovers. And some were, genuinely delusional, or crooked, or just plain old lonely, and looking for attention, swore they knew the real truth of it. It was in fad, and then out of fashion. Some even threatened, to eradicate that curiosity for good. Others, went to war over it -