Buzzed Aldrin

glug glug in the gantry
a vision for fairy
tales out of school
in the cabernet dark;
the pin prick stars circle
brief bubbles in a swirl
(look, its got legs)
nose ascends from the murk;
and we’re tipping up, stemless,
first-growth in a solo
—the arrogance of drowning
the fruit for its spark
...
as if the universe
could grant us more meaning
beyond its own being
and our own silent curse.




April 2020

We would totally push the button

    “Dad, don’t take our doggie downstairs.” Oliver, talking about a newly rediscovered stuffed animal, which plays music. 

    “No buddy, I’m taking it downstairs because it’s noisy and I don’t want it to wake up Lily.” 

    “But dad, we won’t push the button.” 

    “That’s nice, Oliver, but honestly I don’t trust you.” 

    The briefest pause. Then, in a low voice under his breath, “Ohhhh that’s riiiiight, we would totally push the button.” 

April 2020

A Night Void

Tonight the city is a memory
and memory is only a shell
circada-skin, containing the image
thereof, but with no soul.
Tonight I move in shadows,
in fact I am an abstract shade myself,
describing only absence of the light
more so than any object in relief.
Tonight there is a silent space
where once we took the stage;
cruel peace descends upon us
as we begged for, in the world-that-was.
Tonight she shines above the city
in solemn grace the moon ascends
quietly to observe, with neither fear nor joy
the shape of places we no longer go.






April 2020

Known Present Joy

I guess we’ll sit in bubbles
waiting for the angel of death
to pass us by, or else
meet us alone—
I guess we’ll sit and wait
for the night clouds to drift past
tinting orange and pink in the morning,
then peek out from our curtained windows
to see who else survived the dark—
or others will: but I
will stand at the railing of my deck
like a passenger at the bow
sailing in this Earth ship through the stars
no worse for all the fear and waiting,
unscathed by time and the inevitable
joy and pain it brings; I will laugh
with the night, as with the morning
for every second is a gift
planned and given to us, as planned
by divine Intention from the start.
This, too, was known
those many days and centuries ago:
the present does not corrupt the past
as the future is not weighed down by Now.
We shall laugh in the morning
we shall be afraid of other things
and this present darkness is not all,
nor was it ever; only part of the whole.
The ship plunges through the waves
of time and celestial light before and after
and I will be here to feel the spray upon my face
for every moment until I’m not.








April 2020