One Way or Another

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (58)

the day to day distorts

easier than cataclysm

they bend like fun house

mirrors a reflection

of a persistent truth

rather than shattered

into shards to slice

the skin into tatters

the blood seeps beneath

a blasted bit of bone

one seduces

like a lullaby

one 

a merciful kill

(April 29, 2020)

my face blurs as well

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (57)

I walk out into the brush

into a world not home

and there in the stream 

in the moon-bright sky

I look form mirror

to water to window

and the air

blurs what I see

when I read it blurs

everything i’ve read

and like memory it becomes

what I know now

what I knew then

the story is seen

as what it is

always present

always a lie

(April 25, 2020)

afterthought

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (56)

a residue lingers in the air

it curls like cats purr

their self-absorbed song

between your feet

and the lies you stand upon

.

most days the end of the sentence

arrives long after your focus

has blurred and you’ve slipped

from the book stunned

by the light in the street

.

no one but you sees the rabbit

scurry down the hole

for like a wolf the brush devours

any trace of stillness that remains

between the bluebonnets and clover

.

these are your thoughts your dislocations

like a floral hint upon a breeze

they vanish as you turn lost

in the thought you lost in turn

(April 24, 2020)

spectacles

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (55)

to see clearly I look

through lenses

made and adjusted

over time as my vision

grew worse

I understand to see

I must cast off

all perceptions

accumulated

within my cliches

like now as i remove

my glasses

and rub

my dim eyes

(April 19, 2020)

futility’s song

Everything we do is futile, but we must do it anyway.

—Mahatma Gandhi

she dances

casting off ghosts

like skin

she has no bones

no laughter

to lace

the pettiness

tossed on her

like shrouds

to disguise the decay

she avoids

yet accepts

.

she dances

as her feet shuffle

a stolid beat

to disrupt silence’s

desolate

reign

she has no words

to mouth

against herself

no cloak

against the coldest

wind

(April 17, 2020)