sometimes

i.

life is a string
slipping through our hands.
i pull it close, sometimes:
examine each fiber with
dizzying microscopy;
squeeze my eyelids &
melt the scene
over my mind--
when movement burns my hand,
i release it to its slipping path.

ii.

i ponder death, sometimes
to anticipate grief.
so in darker times,
when precious souls depart
for better shores, or worse,
i'll have a friend i know.
"sweet grief," i'll say,
"how good of you to stay."




april 30, 2014

You___

yeah. well
i'm not that guy
(except i am,
and several more)
anyway.
so it's not as though i care;



january 2014

solitude

automonologue delivered

on a dark stage

three hundred empty stadium seats:

a simple, bitter peace

expected disappointment

this is a blind business, here:

a posthumous profession

yet i return

a customer of former thoughts:

scrawling quick impressions
on the future's peeling wall

january 2014

a spell

after flurries of commotion,

silence falls, like 

sudden summer rain from open skies;

long peace, an oil color streak,

descends upon a dusk-dimmed valley.

in these calm times, the dark is filled

with quiet beauty,

content & still.

january 2014

Speak

curious, the assumption
we have things to say.

let us ominously juxtapose:
we are too bored to stay,
too busy to go.

entertain this for a space.
what things have we to say?
truth? as told
by Kennedy or Keats?
laughably i propose
we continue to juxtapose:
speak beauty to power!

no, no--call this unintended consequence
of our ancestors' lofty dreams for what it is.
the educated masses remain illiterate:
despite our many means to say them,
we have no things to say.




october 2013