Author Statement We are all witnesses to and intimate participants in human folly. I choose to document the scope of what I see. Figures upon Figures blends the mythic journey with the internal political battle in a way that pushes for change. It takes place in the forest, on the sea, in the city, in the home, and inside the person. Time is a circle. As a part of the Universe, we are infinite. Everything that we do to others, we do to ourselves. Writing poetry is about facing the self, spending time with the Universe, and allowing others to see who we really are. In a time when governments and corporations pay themselves to make choices about people they will never try to know, we can still choose to examine ourselves, to keep the arts alive, to be active, to nurture our ecosystem, and to speak up.

Paragliding Run off the cliff? Into the air? Nuts, I tell ya! I'm told this is not a certified aircraft. I'm suppose to know that for some reason, That some authority does not recognize it as a flying machine. There's the postage stamp We can land on if we don't make it above the power lines. !!! Stomach slightly queasy But nothing like when engines are involved, Engines that drown out silence. So I breathe deeply, Bring oxygen to the belly As we circle in a thermal air mass. The chute makes a shadow like a bird, Spreads its yellow and orange wings wide. My gaze levels mountaintops And the patch of grass Where we ran off the cliff, Fluffed the chute, Where an attractive couple tanned themselves in the sun And gave me thumbs up after I told them-- This is my first time. As we circle, Play with air, Wind sings in my ears, Blowing this way, Now that, Air for miles, Even under me, It seems And I wonder If I could get used to living like a bird. Landing is like stumbling. I've forgotten how to walk, Been high for so long, No longer know what ordinary life is.

Carnival Vehicles inch toward some annual manifestation. An entrance has a line and a fee. Once past the gate vendors sell jewelry, sunglasses, clothing, blow-up dolls . . . There is pizza, hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, candy apples . . . There is a sheep show at the livestock barn where they are turned into breeders and food for that which is above them on the food chain. Would you like to go for a ride on the roller coaster, carousel horse, or twirling make-me-throw-up type ride? How about the Mardi Gras labyrinth maze where children bump noses against glass until they find an opening, an aperture, a portal then climb a staircase to look into the distorted hall of mirrors where one might say "That is not me. I know who I am and what I look like." A show is about to begin. The hypnotist needs volunteers and the criteria are: (1) one cannot have a low IQ (2) one cannot be drunk (3) one cannot take off one's clothes I am chosen as one of the lucky. We are to watch only her eyes unless they are closed, listen only to the sound of her voice, relax every muscle, don't fight against the natural process, never mind the crowd, bright lights over head or her swimming-pool-blue sparkling sequined shirt. She tells us to smell farts and perfumes, react to candy thrown at our heads from behind as we watch our favorite film, describe our plans for all the $$$ (napkins) she gave us and with it, I say I will buy my writing time. Then we hide the $$$ in our clothing to boost sexual gender before modeling on the runway. So & So yells out "I'm Tinker Bell, King of the Fairies." So & So slaps his ass, jumping, yelling "Who's your Daddy? Who's your Daddy?" So & So steps down into the audience to kiss his wife, whom he wasn't gonna share the $$$ with at all. So & So says "Kiss me. I'm vaccinated." I watch some creature scuttle back and forth across the stage until it jumps into my arms to give me a big sloppy kiss. Maybe this creature is called a Scuttlebutt. Typically they offer a drink of fresh water from a cask on ship. Scuttlebutt sailed the sea and now comes back to me offering water, which is the prize of its emotional travels. The men think they are rock stars. The women think they only speak moon language. At this moment we have a perfect excuse. We are hypnotized.

Pendulum The pendulum rocks side to side, not as the ticking of a second hand around a clock but as a left right left right motion. My crime is not doing anything. The pendulum swings. My crime is trying to help. The pendulum swings. My crime is speaking. The pendulum swings. My crime sill exist as long as I do. No, I cannot see all, but no one can. My crime is to myself, thinking I could ever be perfect enough to never hurt another soul. So call me mean woman for attempting truth. Maybe I push past the breaking point because I know that someone has to crack open before looking inside over and over again. My body settled after yoga but still I could feel the atoms shaking like pixels in my low resolution photograph. Yet my words mean nothing except to me and a few stragglers who pause long enough to look beyond the sand. And if my words are beautiful only to me, at least they are that.