painting: Janice Lee Porter

photo credit: Bill Cottman 

 He Likes His Point Of View

Adamas is known to be oppositional and augmentative

Agreeing with other points of view

Seem bland when there’s no definitive position

                         And perspective shifts like tsunami sands

Astigmatized visions rule this world and

Mark

Every tale of triumph with disgrace and infamy

Some inherit only wind

With it’s questions about ocean depth and

Soul width 

The length and breath

Of life's unending renewal of confusion and chaos

    Wind-blown children of dandelions are

Uprooted by breezes in humid air pockets

Dispersed indiscriminately among grasses and flowers

Blown into manicured lawns that reek of herbicides

He is a son of a dandelion daddy who only dropped his seeds

Acephalic steams of dandelions father a future

While rooted in stigmata of past absurdity

Gale forces govern spirits without solid footing and

Demand answers to questions gods venture

About the sway of strong wills

The temperature of heat indexes

And side effects of insecticide on genetic structures

Adamas has grown hard and jaded despite attempts to weed him out

Without synthetic fertilizer

He returns each spring to litter air and lawns

For he has purpose beyond appreciation

Beyond illusions of perfection

Bastard plants won’t be cultivated 

Protected or arranged

                           Into a bouquet

They are worthless                           they are priceless

They

Like him

Project radical perspectives

Change worlds in undesirable and troublesome ways

He that grows profusely

Where he is not wanted

An ungainly man

Valueless on cultivated ground

Is the X factor

His neck stretches

And contorts until his point of view

Is upside down

Inside out

Until he sees the other side

Of every opinion

He is only superfluous to those

Who hold truth as privilege

Those invested in the way things are

He’s among the chronically unemployed

The ironically unemployable

Because he resist his-story with impunity

He won’t celebrate Columbus Day

Or juneteenth

They are mendacious conundrums

Fulgurate strobes of bad records

Of people denied liberty and justice

He is in the forty seven percent

He is Adamas

Thursday’s child

With so far to go

Born on Thanksgiving into American Apartheid

In a world with no use for him

He is screaming saxophones at Orchestra Hall

Loud conversations in the public library

Adamas is duende in fluorescent rooms

Calling for the madness needed to invent a future

To rewrite stories from dandelion views