Visit a monkey in the tree of his life
He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe
When the sugar turns to alcohol
He shares his crop with one and all

The alcoholic tangerines are free
The alcoholic tangerines for you
The alcoholic tangerines for me

Friday, November 18, 2011

-The Mind Food Brain Maintenance Tool Kit-


-The Mind Food Brain Maintenance Tool Kit-

Volume 1: Nicotine Cures Alsheimers
* This poem is not intended to prevent or cure any disease or illness.
**These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA.

Your mind is in your hands.
Studies show that an active mind is a healthy mind.

In double blind studies
Laboratory raccoons who were genetically pre-conditioned
to develop Alsheimers were twice as likely to enjoy
Nicotine as non-demented control animals.

Lab tests prove a demented raccoon quickly learns
To roll its own cigarettes but it can't flick its bic,

Only a wooden match will suffice
As paper ones don't work in their little hands.

The study also shows demented raccoons roll
Twice as quickly as their non demented counterparts.

Startling results from hippocampal and amygdala dependant
Learning tests prove submerged demented raccoons
Had only 80% of the normal tau protiens
Of their unsubmerged non-demented cousins.

They displayed tangled clumps of tau proteins
And hyperphosphorlylated tau strands
Causing their neurons to become diseased.

Healthy Neuron                                                                Diseased Neuron
These results show that nicotine prevented the
Neurofibrillary tangles which cause memory loss
In demented raccoons, while improving short term spatial memory
In non demented control   animals.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

                                                        Modern Poem

Today this poem fell out of my nose
Stopping a nostril with a thumb
I blurted it out onto the page

It’s trying to impress you
Like a coconut against your skull

Perhaps you could crack it
And suck out its glowing milk of life
But it will crack you first

                                          It needs to be ironic\
                                                                                     \
                        (Perhaps you should feel sorry for it)         \
                                                                                                     \About what it isn’t sure

Its tone is so amiable (and humble) that you can’t help admiring it

It wants to be an atomic bubonic bannana-fanna-fo-phonic
language poem

But it still can’t decide if it should try to mean
Or just be

Now its got an idea:
There is a white clothesline outside of a red barn
And its got some white chickens on it strung upside down squawking prophecies
And a shiny red convertible wheelbarrow glazed with rain water that so much depends Upon is driving back and forth over the broken glass of society and your life
And all of nature trying to catch the feathers

And can’t you sense the chaos?
The inevitable dialectic
Shaking the white clothesline of consciousness in an ironic earthquake?
And all those prophetic chickens, strung upside-down, bobbing like piƱatas?