Friday, September 22, 2023


Lately, I am fine 
with being provoked  
into a song—

solitary as a mollusk, 
I might require 
a disturbance; 

I long, perhaps, 
for intrusion—
something wrong, 

over which 
merely palliative 
sentiments may swarm 
and accrete 
their invaluable nacre 
of brilliance—

some pretty pearl 
of lyric that I never 
meant to form. 


Thursday, September 21, 2023


For some things, 
a middle
may not exist.

The center 
of a universe 
cannot be measured; 

the heart of a process 
has a process 
for a heart, 

and no matter how hard 
you click "zoom in" 
and "enhance,"

all you see are 
and smaller 

strands of self-
similar actions.

rather than declare 
with any kind 
of certainty, 

I'd much rather 
speculate often
and wildly 

that the farther out 
from innocence I seem 
to spin, 

the more I must
give in to some 
tiny grain of mystery—

some talisman 
of confidence 
bounded by its absence, 

like the gaps
between lips in 
true love's first kiss—

my exact but 
center of mass, 

wherever that
is, or whoever 
it was.

Wednesday, September 20, 2023


The reason 
it's always 
so scarce 

and at a premium 
is that Truth (with 
a capital T) 

always hits 
like this: 
first, there's 

a burst—a young 
of fascination—

followed by 
the pubescent flair 
of self-

righteous ardor
and its blush
of fascination—

after which, 
the giddy flame 
of advancement starts 

to wildly dance,
and then spread,
and ignite,

and vaporize 
not only 

Itself, but the whole 
observation deck 
too badly 

for the singed 
and now-
traumatized victim

to willingly 
(or otherwise)

Tuesday, September 19, 2023


There is no reason 
to worry, I am told—

no need 
to feel shame 
or guilt after all, since

every time we 
bulldoze over 
something that was beautiful, 

we know 
that something useful 
is bound to be created—

a need in the abstract 
is concretely filled. 

And honestly, 
it's a sentiment with which
I'm prone to resonate, 

as I've known
the same premise to be true 
in reverse:

I have grieved 
for every second 

which I haven't spent 
in daydreams,

since I've sensed 
that something 

but equally 

has probably just been 
staunched and stripped 
of every bit of lifeblood, 

flattened and paved-
over—too jovially  

Monday, September 18, 2023


All our lives, we're 

well, read 
close, and pay 

of creeds and 

of bells is 
to consecration. 

But then, 
one day, 
we may slump 

in the pew—
and, nodding-
off, dream 

our revelation:
that through the raw 

of awe 
and of terror 
may sluice 

rarer knowledge 
of the vulgar
and the workaday; 

through gaps 
in the soothing, 
child-like echolalia 

of the mass, 
may pour forth 
both the infinite river 

and infinitesimal 
vessel of salvation.

whether the next 
great abyss 
we fall into

be our hell 
or our heaven—
who really cares? 

As long as it 
takes us somewhere 

Friday, September 15, 2023


In the weakening 
light, as summer turns 
to autumn, 

it gets harder 
to find what is right—
what is good. 

Thankfully, from each 
slight edge, in
towards the heart, 

all that is pure 
and alive starts 
to blur

and flush bright 
with blushes of well-
deserved death
to make it 
more perfectly 
well understood.

Thursday, September 14, 2023


What in the world 
are these black, 
grotesque creatures—

these odd gargoyle 
statues we're all 
turning into? 

Which ashen, 
raided town square 

(and from where) 
do we slouch toward? 
After birth, 

every woman 
and man seems 
to fade, 

little by
little, to some 
rumpled up object,

or clubfooted 
symbol, or hoarse-
whispered proverb.

Unlike what we'd 
heard, things do not
fall apart; 

instead, they just 
harden, contract, 
and conserve—until 

all our lives 
are worth is their lines, 
curves, and serifs,

and everyone 
on Earth who has ever 
loved and laughed—

from Abraham 
and Sarah, down to 
Peaches and Herb—

sooner or later—
gets collapsed  
into a word.