GEDANKENEXPERIMENT

To a waveparticle of light 

there is no big picture;

there's 

no such thing 

as later, 

no such 

thing as night. 

It that sense, 

each photon is pure 

excitation; 

as a matter of course, 

it must exist 

in a permanent 

present, whatever 

the cost. 

There is no domain 

where it ought 

not to travel; 

where it goes is 

where it is, so 

it cannot be lost. 

In short, it composes 

the world through 

which it hurtles—

kind of like 

this thought. 

SUNK COST

Our low-key

favorite 

thing about these bodies 

is their penchant 

for falling 

far short of their ideal. 

This fetish 

for the defect—this hell 

of the self—

this giddy-

thrilled refusal 

to feel what we most need 

may seem 

like a torment—

like a bad poker hand—

but we see it 

as a palmed ace, 

as a check not yet cashed. 

This hectic grace, 

this restlessness 

is an interest 

which pays compounding 

dividends the longer 

we invest;

it's the reason 

we buy in 

again and again—

even after

the market has 

already crashed.

PROGNOSIS

In the age 

of mechanical 

reproduction, 

consumers 

will function 

as the artists

and all those 

who dine upon 

these words 

shall be granted 

the might of an 

author intervening.

A bottled rich 

umami flavor 

overtakes the palate;

information 

saturates—suffocates 

the meaning. 

SUI GENERIS

Gray geese 

fly camouflaged 

by overcast skies 

as wavewater percolates 

through slate-

stippled sand. 

The use 

of this sort of thing 

to a certain stripe of mind 

is simpler 

to explain than it is 

to understand: 

most people 

want to know 

how many clouds? 

A few are much quicker 

to wonder

what kind?

NONPLUSSED

Origami crane

fashioned from 

a dollar bill

interrupts 

your complicity 

in the collective dream

by making 

the fantastic

real.

*

It's all going 

to work out, we say; 

it's okay, 

or 

it's not 

that important—as if 

to kick 

the empty soft pack 

of "it" down the road 

after flushing the cigarettes 

of "is" 

down the toilet. 

*

In the future, 

words like "nonplussed" 

mean their opposite,

and belief in the devil 

is actively shunned,

while all manner 

of heretofore 

abstract objects

now exist just

to astound.

Welcome. 

Please log in 

to your iCloud account. 

Stay safe. 

Stay healthy. 

Stay busy. 

Stay stunned. 

CLUE

One 

by one, tiny sun-

smitten buds 

shiver up the lilac branches—

the way 

new lines of poetry 

appear 

to ring true 

simply by virtue 

of having just 

been written. 

EBB TIDE

What does it mean 

to say a life 

has been "spent?"

Exhausted 

from treading 

the waters of want?

Or else, from always holding 

our watery hands out 

hoping to receive 

our allowance 

of suffering? 

Perhaps, it's forgetting 

the fad of transcending;

eschewing 

jagged edges for 

softness made stronger.

It's not as if, someday, 

we'll not be 

still filled 

with dubious persons 

and infernal desires; 

it's just that 

we may live to be  

too old to stand up 

and shake their bejeweled 

hands any longer.

LIFE'S WORK

The light 

through the window 

comes in full-speed 

from nowhere 

slams and 

gets tangled 

in the woodgrain 

of the table 

as your hand moves unbidden 

to seize the utensil, 

and it doesn't 

even occur to you 

to wonder if this 

is normal.

*

Once, life 

was broke. 

Then, it got to work; 

life was 

all business. 

Now, it gets the joke—

and it calls itself 

flirtatious. 

*

The little girl 

whose smooth hand 

yours cradles 

gazes up at you now

with a quizzical 

look on her face 

because she's either 

too young 

or too 

something else 

to grasp  

what you mean 

by "a hassle." 

*

Ironically, if you want to see 

the kinds of shapes 

light makes 

when it finally 

slows to a halt,

all you have 

to do is wait; 

this could take 

forever. 

HUNG JURY

You know 

what they say: options 

beget disparity, 

and disparity 

invites the contrast 

which heightens your 

confusion.

Consider 

the way your 

head's tense crest 

always manifests 

emergencies: wild eyes 

under rampant hair,

gone wild 

from the scent 

of predicament. 

Consider, too, the fact 

that you're almost 

exactly sixty percent water—

and that water, 

in all cases, 

rides with gravity, 

pursues ease. 

Which part 

of your being, then,

begs the most attention—

defense or prosecution? 

Which words, 

once incepted, 

are speaking 

even now

for your deadlocked caucus 

of hacked actions?

MIRROR STAGE

Once:

mere confusion 

of the grotesque 

with the meaningless.

Now: a reluctant 

surveillance of the day-to-day;

forgetfulness 

as signifier, 

castigation as 

routine. 

*

Existence 

as a thing 

begets persistence 

as a subject. 

the assumption, half-

forgotten, 

half-lost 

in translation 

is that one must 

perform one's function; 

one must, in fact,

go on.

*

The atoms 

which compose us 

are spinning themselves 

despite our reluctance—

or vibrating 

in place, at least 

with something like 

anticipation. 

Do a little happy dance 

gets 

sent to us 

as automated text message.

Then,

do your own research. 

Then, never look 

back. 

THE PROBLEM WITH PRESENCE

The stirring of bare branches 

by limpid 

eyeless wind;

morning sunlight 

clinging 

like a dangled modifier,

emphasizing shadows' 

whereabouts, 

severing the cold—

this is presence itself 

bearing witness 

to its function.

All the world is humming

to the same 

obscured assumption:

the problem with presence is 

we each perceive it 

as our own. 

LE SACRE DU PRINTEMPS

In lieu of hugs 

and platonic kisses, 

we are succored now 

by noises 

which ripple the horizons—

contrails 

from car radios 

smearing lively streets;

starlings who needle 

the blithe air 

with their whistles;

and laughing-screams 

leaking from the edges 

of our playgrounds. 

And though deeply at peace 

and in love 

with the sounds, 

we maintain 

a light dispassion,

and we know 

this isn't heaven 

by the way we aren't 

fatigued as yet 

with all the repetition. 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I like to think 

I write things down 

so that others can see 

they're not alone 

in this mission, 

but truth 

be told, I use poems 

like friction—

to slow 

my roving mind 

with the scrape 

of repetition 

and to run interference 

on my snowy disposition 

with the heat 

from my body's conflicting 

experience.

MARCH CARDINAL

Child of the wind, 

blown in fresh 

from Elysium, 

his fresh scar of red 

against the monochrome wreck 

is a real piece 

of cake for the hiker's 

eye to track, but 

to find himself here 

at the end of winter's dreck

might be dumb 

luck because he's 

just as shocked as you are.

ABRACADABRA

In the clogged wings

offstage, 

limitless prototypes 

wait (since eternity) 

for just the right climax 

or inciting incident 

to flood and ply

the arch 

for all 

of half a minute. 

*

Every Earth-second 

yields 4.5 infants—

and yet, 

in physics, it's professed 

that the instant 

two bits hit each other 

all of their mystery 

is forthwith 

annihilated. 

* 

From their seats 

in the house, 

the audience 

bears witness 

to undying iterations 

of 1s and 0s 

piling as 

long cords, 

into fantastic shapes 

never seen before—

but that doesn't stop them 

from leaning to whisper 

their trite explanations 

of the metaphor. 

THE SCIENTIST

Something has always 

piqued my interest 

about single-

serve recipes, 

drying racks 

which house 

just one dish, 

and austere 

wooden tables 

with a solitary chair. 

How much less 

can one man stand?—

I shall know 

when I get there.

That endgame, 

perhaps, is a 

mortal stress, so 

it's a good thing 

I was built for this

and am dying to test 

just how 

much violence 

bachelorhood will bear. 

BY COMPARISON

Everything that's coming 

had to come from 

something 

that itself was once 

very close 

to nothing. 

What would it be like 

to be that first thing—

parentless 

and humble, 

uncalled 

by another, and yet 

suddenly all 

at once, there 

to discover 

the nuts 

and bolts of loving, 

the long and short 

of leaving?

*

Ashes to ashes,

dust to dust, 

and in between, 

oneness (read: 

aloneness) 

with experience. 

*

It's good, now

that things are beginning 

to stir all around me—

shadows 

of dull bulbs, flickers 

of birds' wings—

that way, I don't 

have to be 

the one to sing;

I can be silent 

and still 

more profoundly.  

JUST THE THING

In a less 

auspicious turn, 

I'm the Flesh 

made Word—

because I'm always attempting 

to be just the thing 

to spurn the unconscious 

and burst forth 

from your mouth—

because I long to degrade 

on the waves 

of midair ringing 

til I land like a seed 

in the mind 

of you interlocutor 

and bloom into 

the sweetness of a greater 

understanding—

because I was built

to live forever, 

but I cannot bear the wait, 

and on a page, I can't stop 

leading, always leaning 

towards an answer—

and lastly, because 

I am never content 

to just be myself; 

I always 

have to mean 

something else,

whether or not 

I can mean something  

great.

OBNOXIOUS

how loud the rusted

hinges of my heart 

still creak 

with the coming 

and going 

of your trust.

TURN-ONS

When I tell you 

I need understanding 

like a drug, 

it sounds degrading. 

But 

the way you can't 

give me 

what I want 

is so hot. 

*

Which do you think 

is sexier? 

my neediness 

or

the way I pretend 

not to lie to you 

about it? 

*

In my experience...

you start to say,

because the truth 

is just not 

the party dress 

you're looking for—or 

because the truth 

is that the warm muzzle 

of authority 

pressing so 

firmly against you 

is soothing. 

NO-MAN'S LAND

It's possible that 

you and I exist 

not as 

a series of near-

infinite points, but 

more as as series 

of near 

hits and misses.

In both cases, 

some kind of

surveillance is involved—

some orienting 

spin somehow

superintends

the blind-alley waste 

of directionless space—

but in neither 

could you say 

we've mapped 

the lightning strike 

of being yet, 

even though 

we've been surveying 

all the right places.