Monday, October 30, 2023

Knuckles

Splendid that the word
in English should begin with K,
hard like bone. Make a fist.

There they are, those knobs
in a slanting line, fingers
bolted to them. Make a list

of all the species they knew
before they went to work
for us. People put rings

on fingers, shape and paint
nails, read palms, shake
hands, caress with soft

finger-pads. They might
even tattoo something
sinister near the knuckles,

which no matter what keep
working shifts in the grip
factory, uncelebrated, scraped.

Rub the knuckles of one
hand with the other hand's
fingers: a gesture of thanks.


hans ostrom 2023

Chomsky-Foucault Debate on Power vs Justice (1971)

Sunday, October 15, 2023

Bayou Blues

 Sulfur yellow sky
seals in obese,
humid air.

Just sitting on
our slumped porch,
us, still we sweat creeks.

A sick boat motor
coughs over there
on the bayou canal.

A sedan drives up.
Looks like a Fed car.
Our neighbors scatter

like water drops
on a griddle. We
have to breathe

this air. We have
to breathe this
here hot, wet air.


hans ostrom 2023

Orb Spider In Its Nest

I saw a a dark, spotted
orb-weaver spider
suspended in the center
of its flat, woven net,
presiding over its life.

I leaned in and spoke
softly to it. The spider slowly
raised its two foremost
legs--a casual double-wave.

Like moonlight glowing
on an old eucalyptus tree,
like an unsheltered man
sleeping on a city grate,

the spider and its awareness
cannot affect the future.
They're almost nothing,
just like me. And yet the
spider and the man and
the glowing tree, and just one

night's moonlight should
count as crucial. They exist
& their gestures suggest we
should care.


hans ostrom 2023