Tuesday, September 26, 2023


The invisible wind
wends through yellowing 
leaves again, stirring 

dim memories, which you 
may or may not 
have lived-through. 

But it's the sunset 
pall of quiet, and attendant 
strange equivalence 

of motion to stillness 
which really seem
to thrill you.

From here, eternity 
seems to meander 
out past red horizons 

in either direction, 
while the smells 
and the textures 

of creatures you're 
not sure you knew
(though you seemed to)

rush wildly through 
your core on their way 
toward oblivion.

And of course, you're 
neither willing 
nor able to explain 

the peace that such 
an onrush of ephemeral 
truth can give you, 

for you've stood here 
and breathed this air
often enough before 

to know that the bliss 
of remembrance 
is its solitude.  

Monday, September 25, 2023


For a short, blissful while 
in our lives, 
we are able 

to rely upon 
a limitless supply
of inspiration; 

from our bountiful 
dreams, we pluck
copious reminders 

that one plus one 
is not always 

and that fair and fowl 
sometimes don't 
cancel out each other. 

But sooner or later, 
the hard times 
must hit, 

and we're ordered 
to ration and restrict 
away the abstract. 

Little by little, 
our belts 
grow tighter, 

our skins, red 
and thinner, 
and our vision, 

dimmed and tired—
until, at last, 
all we're left with 

is the discourse
of arithmetic—
an accounting 

of our worth 
using dry, 
brittle sticks. 

Only now, 
stick plus stick 
seems to always yield 

two sticks
whereas back 
when we could dream,

stick plus stick 
might mean

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