How I’d Spend It by Heikki Huotari
All those opposed to raising your right hand should raise your left hand. One spider-man is asking where’s the nearest phone booth. Neither plummeter nor levitator be. You’d wonder where the ultraviolet went when you bathe in infrared. If what the masses had were not contagious you’d ignore it. Of the algorithm’s biases you’d wash your hands. The algorithm surely has a plan.
But having thoughts in thousands I’d be rounding down. The accident is happy and the harmony is cognitive so to what exit are dissenting voices to be shown? An antiquated state of grace, a tool of no known trade, the self-selected sample averages are all over the map. Throw money at me, I’m a problem; don’t throw money at me, I’m a problem. If the lily will not spin the lily will not eat and no one knows that I just won the lottery but Jesus.
When near-death experiences are reported by eyewitnesses eyewitnesses are we and we apologize to all we have offended pass it on. When mirrors turn like sunflowers to face the poster child and not just for the fun of spinning we the semifinalists are waiting in the rain. Dark matter is nothing to laugh at. To illumination be amenable or hence. It’s your move moon, my statement’s made.
Heikki Huotari attended a one-room school and spent summers on a forest-fire lookout tower. Since retiring from academia/mathematics he has published poems in numerous journals and in five poetry collections. His manuscript, To Justify The Butterfly, won second prize, and publication, in the 2022 James Tate Chapbook Competition.