A WORKING MODEL OF EXPERIENCE

If the past is 

just a joke 

whose punchline we 

have memorized, 

and the future 

is a cruse ship 

whose tagline is 

"unsinkable," 

then the present 

must be the decimal repeating 

after all 

that we're capable 

of recording 

with our devices 

is divided 

by all that we still find 

unthinkable. 

*

If the past 

is me knowing 

what everyone was thinking, 

and the future 

is a party 

in a room I can't picture, 

then the present 

must be the one I'm in 

now: 

on the couch

unamused, surrounded 

by strangers. 

*

To wake up 

and find myself 

in the middle 

of a sentence—

it's like 

I've just come-to 

in the freefall 

of existence, 

hurtling downward 

toward an "is" 

that won't discriminate. 

What's it like 

for you? 

A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE

While we rise, dig 

deep, strap 

in, and hunker down, 

clouds—

in the background 

every morning, 

do-si-do-ing.

Clouds 

joining, separating, freely 

flowing, 

and unbound.

Clouds without debt; 

clouds intent 

on nothing. 

Clouds never tired 

of involving one another. 

Clouds with borders 

so blurry and porous

as to make 

us stop and think 

(at least, 

if not 

in such a callous rush): 

no wonder 

they're so far 

above us.

LITTLE SHOCKS

Little shocks

of sidewalk clover 

discreetly peeking 

through concrete, 

I see you 

make the most 

of the constraints 

imposed upon you, 

and I know we 

all have a thing or two 

to learn about

negotiations.

How the center of something 

might be the frontier.

And how life in the city 

is a hostage situation. 

UNMENTIONABLES

Fantasy: 

I want to be 

phase-locked 

like a V

of wild geese—

each one 

in perfect sync, 

while avoiding the rest 

at all costs.

*

Solidity.

Permanence.

(let's face it,

such words 

are great comfort, 

but those things

just aren't beautiful; 

in fact it's 

quite the opposite.)

*

On the very long trip 

from speech 

to silence, 

I often want to say 

I feel 

self-obsessed 

one minute, 

and completely 

abstract the next;

I guess,

at it's best, 

the mind is like 

a Crayola crayon box: 

bigger is always better—

and full of colors 

that don't exist 

yet. 

LONG-TERM STRATEGIES

1. 

Scent chemicals start 

turning keys in their locks, 

performing the dance 

of a nuclear 

launch sequence,

unleashing a vivid

technicolor attack. 

2.

Reality 

is a game show 

wherein participants 

must concentrate 

harder than the rest 

to solve 

even the littlest 

problems. 

3. 

The present moment 

is a time-out 

in the knock-em-down 

grudge match 

between future and past 

so that fans 

can adjust themselves 

and doubt 

can sell ads. 

4.

The aching cry 

of a minor third:

denial too 

can be beautiful—

on a long enough time line, 

perhaps 

the sheer stamina 

of my intransigence 

will start

to surprise you. 

GODSEND

The way 

fingertips pause, 

poised over letters 

suggests

that vague clouds 

skating in from the west

first survey

your neighborhood 

for interesting sounds 

before morphing 

into their 

reciprocating shapes—

suggests verbs 

once roamed the great 

plains of the page 

before Proper Nouns came 

to tranquilize 

and train them for the circus—

suggests meaning 

is a desert lake 

which ripples in the distance, 

and purpose 

isn't given to us 

pre-ordained—but made. 

CALISTHENICS

As the sun's rays

always find the beech trees 

reaching, 

flotsam at their feet, 

fingers splayed 

toward heaven—

so too 

do we loyally practice 

and pose, 

day after day, 

those words which sound 

most durable,

pressing 

and holding them firm 

to the foreground, 

conjuring 

from the blur of motion 

resolute convictions,

posturing allegiances, 

bootstrapping 

blind faith.