scribble

________________________________

things live, or live not;
die, or die not
and (in a dour mood, a
sunset cigarette) i cannot tell
what is living, or dying.
people, love, empires, ideas
and underneath, the Others--
the bricks that shelter me from weather 
and the rain they partition:
these survive, neither living nor passing,
impartial to me, and my thoughts.


in times to come, what will survive
of me, my loves, my constructs and ideas
is nothing: a pile of dust and air.
i am left a ghost-ship on the sea of Time
adrift as i am aloof unto
these passive things that shall speak to my sons
as i shall not.
things living not, dying not,
until all life's flames snuff out.


the passing wind,
a mourning tale,
blows ever on.








march 2012

And to the bitter sky one night some hollow words were said:
a curse against the Earth
and distant stars.
Once done, cold peace rushed in again to fill its silent place.








March 2012

gardens

prisoners, slaves, we compose

our meager gardens sown and cultured on cubicle shelves;

invisible to those who see them as a trinket-hoard, 

piled souvenirs. these gardens speak for us
our weak resistance to overwhelming Fate.

so i, from a deforested desk, proclaim 

in dull-formed words and unread poems

reprimanding Earth: you waste me here, and others everywhere!

we unhappy majority, a great dragging mass

yearn for the field, the stream, for dirt ground into our hands,

for time when we knew purpose.

and, so cruelly lacking, we now compose 

these bitter gardens: gaudy, plastic, childish things

gathered and arranged--our only resistance 

to the well-factoried career, so full of function, devoid 

of meaning: a blanche 

upon our ancient memories.

Feb 2012

massive

i lose myself in narrow verticals,

upright horizons drawn small

and the pinpoint caverns air-cut 

into a close wall's tile grout.

so lost, i become much:

a molecular cave-dweller, whose ragged tribe

ekes out a careful living on these sheer cliffs

(which stagger unimaginably above, and below)

huddled in our shallow caves with children,

meager camp fires, survival's camaraderie.

loftily perched i salute my giant self-opposite

which, though huge and omnipotent

lacks this: my impoverished, desperate tribe,

possessing nothing, ragged, loved, and free.

and i, massive to that small self,

long to be so powerless and amazed.

Feb 24, 2012

moleculerance.

i find little tolerance for--or from--a mental culture that can believe in molecules, but not in God.