from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (71)
some time after sunrise I wake
go downstairs book notebook
pen in hand make coffee take
my meds check various
social platforms eat some thing
shower get dressed
sometimes read sometimes write
sometimes nap wake
cook dinner wash the dishes
watch TV listen to music and
then after some time go to sleep
(July 2, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (27)
days copy days
as if life stutters
what’s to be said
until finally
one’s last word’s
spoken
(February 16, 2020)
Darkness surrounds me
as the coffee pot gurgles.
A cat purrs nearby.
(October 23, 2019)
I put on my socks.
The sun slides across the sky.
I take off my socks.
(October 15, 2019)
“It’s up to poets to revive the gods.”
—-Jim Harrison
There are no more gods
to conjure our hope
against this darkness,
no soft rituals
filled with smoke and fire
to sate writhing snakes.
We must shape the dark
to find ourselves
a space to live,
protected from rain
and heat, a space
to sleep and be reborn.
We alone must be
the wood and spark.
(August 29,2019)
not fairies
but fire
voices dance
dispelling fear
motion as motion
blur the air
not here yet
everywhere
(March 12, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Yet again, the river rages;
I know what to do now,
after so many years.
(March 8, 2019)
I project myself onto a new world
Which is not mine, but simply becomes mine.
These become moments when something happens
And nothing happens. I exist tangled
In marginalia, a handwriting
Stitched upon the edges. Another book
Becomes a palimpsest to my tired thought,
A filter to strain away the slither.
Roman priests examined the intestines
Of animals slaughtered for sacrifice.
To devine auguries in the moment,
When something happened, and nothing happened,
They would take the eviscerated signs-
The clots of blood, the bits of flesh, as truth.
(November 30, 2018)
I step out the door,
Another muggy fall day:
Mules trudge through the field.
Mud slowly sucks at my step;
I shall fall and become earth.
(September 20, 2018)
first bits
then fragments
fall away
like branches
on fire
crack off
until
wholly ash
which wind then
wisps to air
adrift
incorporeal
a spirit singing
in each breath
(August 9, 2018)
