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Dying is No Mean Trick
by
My ground’s unstable
as likely to shatter
like a crystal glass
across a stone floor
as it is to remain
fixed within its frame.
I hold out my handsto solidify the air,
and balance on the rubble
like a tight rope walker
negotiates the empty space
across the rushing falls.
I am no magician;my illusions fall.
The distractions fail.
I am my own mark
from which to measure
the final unsteady step.
(August 27, 2026)
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The Introvert Attends an Event
Another party
with awkward conversations—
Will I ever learn?
People talk and talkabout the most inane things—
as if I do not.
I try new topicsbeyond the hellish heat wave—
nothing in common.
We all stand in linediscussing the food choices:
oooh, what is that there?
I think about Jane Austen.
Does this fill up my dance card?
(August 24, 2026)
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My Ghosts
Hovering behind me
on the edge of vision,
they show themselves
through innuendo.
No blatant laughter,
but violent whispers
which hint of storms
later from the shadow.
I cannot exorcise them,because I cannot name them.
They refuse to confess
preferring instead to sift
through old possibilities
like snow through dead branches.
(August 20, 2026)
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Nothing Leaves Now
by
fear is always present
like air or dust
caught in the throat
seconds before a cough
I’ve said this beforeit is worth repeating
if nothing matters
everything matters
so find what you loveand who you love
and hold that moment
tighter than ice
until it’s eternaluntil it’s present
(August 18, 2026)
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