LAST WORDS

Globular notes

from an out-of-sight 

but patently 

nearby wind chime—

dissonant 

and sonorous, 

edgeless 

but intersecting,

fleeting

as they stay—

oozing out 

like quicksilver 

thoughts 

from your brain. 

*

If those were your last words, 

how would you know? 

How long 

would you try 

to hold on to them

before you realized 

how loose this whole 

time they'd been 

fastened 

onto you?

LAST DITCH

If we'll never 

be able to 

get things straight, 

maybe we can 

at least 

get them even—

if it isn't 

too late,

make the harm 

that we've suffered 

roughly equal 

to the weight

of the blame 

we have cast

like hot lead 

into bars 

which we clench 

with our hands, 

and then rattle 

and shake

having long ago 

lost our own

furious track 

of whether 

they were forged  

to protect 

something good

or contain 

what went bad.

EXPLANATION

Why do we 

put so much 

faith 

in explanation

even though, 

like the wind 

through the trees, 

we can hear 

others groan

and creak as it rushes,

and we can see

from the looks 

in their faces

how quickly 

it 

dissipates? 

*

At best, our speeches 

trickle out little

prickles 

of heat 

 

like the friction 

gradually 

realized between 

those raggedy actions 

we took 

in the past 

and the reams  

of their consequences, 

which have yet 

to materialize. 

FACE FACTS

What if, 

rather than illuminate, 

there are certain 

types of light 

that distract. 

Perhaps, rather than 

becoming motivated 

to act, 

we simply remain 

too fond 

of the brilliant.

Through dilated pupils

and clouded cataracts,

we turn without 

thinking toward 

the nearest 

warm and effulgent 

thing

and fondly 

call it heaven—forgetting 

that, heretofore, every 

day on the Earth,

the sky was so bright

we couldn't see 

beyond it.

WHAT WILL THEY THINK OF NEXT

God, being God,

could use magic

but he doesn't. 

The end goal 

is simple; evolution 

is the stratagem.

But this Rube 

Goldberg device 

(by definition)

is elaborate—so 

the instructions 

come slow 

on an old record 

that sounds bad. 

The tragic shows

are also the most riveting, 

according to 

the marketing department. 

But you—all alone now

in your home,

with internet, fear, 

and a phone—

what are you supposed 

to make out of that?

POINT-TO-POINT

Again and again, I tend 

to emerge

as a sun 

through fringe clouds,

from a mid-

morning dream

like a cave 

underground 

with a stomach 

that feels enlarged

though I know 

that it's not—

and a head 

which is so thick 

with the banter 

of creatures 

that I can't bear 

to speak, so instead 

I'm just thinking: 

I know what I said 

about rational sense, 

but

could I have been wrong 

after all 

about the straightforward nature

of sensation?

LABOR-SAVING DEVICES

As if to 

make up for 

all the strip-mining 

relentlessly, we are 

filling up every crater 

with our

avatars—

more and more 

food porn,

longer and longer 

trains of 

Instagram stories, 

smarter 

and taller and 

hungrier children 

who never can know 

what our names were.

*

Let us create 

a "greater awareness" 

of the connections between 

slavery 

and labor-saving 

devices. 

Progress achieves 

a rhythm of its own 

almost 

by definition.

*

Perhaps our detritus 

is harboring 

hidden energy.

From now on, don't just bury 

your feelings 

in words;

touch here 

and try to match them up 

to each picture.