Owning the room
As he does
With ease,
Insecurity
Blunders
Through the door,
And takes
His place
On the sofa
Near me.
I try to leave,
But can’t.
I’m not sure
Why.
(November 29, 2018)
Doubt
Category: control
Weeks Before Winter Solstice
W
“and I am
out with hanterns, looking for myself”
–Emily Dickinson
Despite the lights in the house,
The darkness penetrates.
It assumes positions in corners,
Presumptuous in its domain.
Like lions pace a cage’s confines,
I am lost in loops of thought
Looking for a set of keys
Which will let me inside.
Yet, there is no rest within
Nor without which can comfort
Enough to bring a closure;
Locked in my obsessions,
I worry each item in turn,
Tangled like tumblers at a fair.
(November 26, 2018)
Improvisation
at best—
a bird flits
across the yard
with a divine grace
from bush to tree top
as if each wing-beat,
dip, and glide
were planned
more likely— I wing
each moment; in chaos
I flail, arms akimbo—
a cartoon character
only cognizant as I fall
slowly through clouds
into a soft puff of dust
that pocks the ground
(October 4,2018)
Memory’s Vague
“Chorus But there is no remembering the human mind.”
— Gertrude Stein
Even in the act,
the mind is not
remembered.
Memory is
remembered
as past.
Yet mind
mediates
creation
of a present
past cast
as memory–
a story still
told today.
(September 27, 2018)
the constant
as if an aura buzzed
a neon glow along an edge
of a byzantine saint
a low level dread burns
on the periphery of his days
like a star verging on collapse
everything everywhere constantly
distracts toward simple
chaos toward tangents
askew to well ordered
paths desired in his constant
scrabble for affirmation
instead of beatific joy
in the exploding universe
Misaligned
She moves the block to the right
slightly, turning its axis
parallel to the table’s edge.
It is now as she imagined,
arranged in her mind’s symmetry,
aligned with the larger world.
Life would be easier if only
every one would take care
of everything instead of her.
But they don’t. So she does
what she can to help
put things in their places.
Yet the world she desires
rarely mimics the world
she lives within,
and the difference grows
as roots in a forest
askew to any explanation.
(September 7, 2018)
Quiet Desperation
I’ve never been free:
approbation and fear
a constant tap-tap
at my shoulder,
as a reminder— “No,
do not go there.
Stay inside this truth.
It’s comfortable here.”
Justly, it is never
too warm to sweat,
nor cold enough to shiver.
There are no bears here,
lost in their quandaries
as to my medial decisions.
(September 3, 2018)
