from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (70)
the cat rolls
like time
into the sun
(July 2, 2020)
-
Afternoon Light
by
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey”(69)
the grey cat sits
on the table by the window
and watches the mockingbird
on the elm outside
.
I watch her patience
today and yesterday
and last week
and think she’s oblivious
to sit so stoically
day after day
without hope
of any desires’
consummation
.
I lose my way each day
throughout the day
thinking of this
then distracted by that
as if the unspecified contains
some mysterious truth
more than a cat
sitting in the sun
(June 28, 2020)
-
past imperfect tense
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey: (68)
“I cannot keep my dreams straight.”
-Franz Kafka
some nights most nights
after a whiskey or more
years if not decades
swirl like blue smoke
at my feet
and I forget
where I am as time
falls away like an old drunk
stumbling on my way home
the familiar story
the soft path alters
and strangers step out
of the dark laughing
vaguely and I have forgotten
why I’m laughing
then laugh again
(June 23, 2020)
-
Lines Written in a Pandemic a Few Days After the Summer Solstice
by
acceptance, anger, change, cycle, dance, death, despair, fate, frustration, lament, meditation, pandemic, poetry, summer, tired, transitionfrom a work in progress: “Process, Not a Journey” (67)
our earth wobbles its way
about the sun like a drunk
unsure of her footing
moves again
toward the bar
*
day by day minute by minute
plods toward darkness
for the next six months
each day grows darker
by one minute
*
not quite disturbing
the dullard doves
who coo complacently
on the fence
–
cardinals and jays
fussing constantly
slip after each other
between tree branches
–
I watch and listen
to this dance
for hours
and can do nothing
*
as it was in the beginning
world without end
(June 23, 2020)
-
who tells the tale
by
from a work in progress: process, not a journey (65)
she speaks of her self
and all that entails
.
your memory is not hers
less so than those daffodils
.
shut up and listen
(June 19, 2020)
-
in the absence of god
by
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey” (66)
a grey cat twitches
her tail in the grass
.
who has time
to listen
to a sparrow’s
stressed twit-twit
from a tree
(June 19, 2020)
-
nostalgia’s a desire for the present
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (64)
what he remembers now
is different than what
he remembered then
.
now he is old
and does not remember
as well what happened
.
then he was young
and foolish and remembered
trivial things
.
of little use then
even less so
now
.
as he holds
his aspects together
between fragile hands
.
facets of the past
spin off light
for a moment
.
and he sees her eyes
that first night
they almost kissed
(June 16, 2020)
-
charmed life
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (63)
DCF 1.0 inevitably
we would join hands
twirl a circle
with wild abandon
then fall into laughter
on the fresh cut grass
.
summer was summer
for longer than a summer
could be or ever would
be again
.
when the kids on the street
were everyone we knew
and the world was safe
nearby
(June 16, 2020)
-
the means’ end
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (62)
all
falls
to
ash
(June 16, 2020)
-
limbo (a reading)
by
limbo
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (61)
months of laconic weeks drift
past as the centuries two-step
a dance macabre about the village
square like old lovers late at night
dance slowly arms entwined
in a practiced grace
your death’s not important
to them any more than mine
only this dance matters
the horror of it lies
in the death head’s grin
which does not pretend
to hide its deception
there is no skin to map
its laughter into flowers
across our blind eyes
no dead platitudes to act
as balm for our world in flames
(June 14, 2020)
-
limbo
by
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (61)
months of laconic weeks drift
past as the centuries two-step
a dance macabre about the village
square like old lovers late at night
dance slowly arms entwined
in a practiced grace
your death’s not important
to them any more than mine
only this dance matters
the horror of it lies
in the death head’s grin
which does not pretend
to hide its deception
there is no skin to map
its laughter into flowers
across our blind eyes
no dead platitudes to act
as balm for our world in flames
(June 14, 2020)
-
Surface Tensions
“stop, children, what’s that sound
everybody look what’s going down”
—Stephen Stills
Another day spreads across the sky
as the flood waters continue to rise.
There is little to stand upon now
that does not tip into complicity.
Ice melts along its edges. One moment
we are there watching the turmoil
below our feet, then the ice is gone,
and we are all breathing water,
floundering in the lies we live.
Our words fill our lungs, and
silence gurgles past our lips
as we slip slowly deeper
beneath the cold gelatinous sea,
to drown in our undeserved comforts
(June 8, 2020)
-
Contained & Vanishing Point (a reading)
Contained
“I contain multitudes”
-Walt Whitman
I am not a voice,
but an echo of silence—
before and after.
Like dried flowers in old books,
I live pressed within these folds.
(May 27 2020)
Vanishing Point
“Falling is one of the ways of moving.”
— Merce Cunningham
Finding walls
where there were
none before,
I stumble,
and fall
toward a point
perceived as distance,
yet, always here.
What I see is
only what I know;
perception’s a deception
one swallows entire.
The eye’s led on
from the outside in.
(June 2, 2020)
-
Vanishing Point
“Falling is one of the ways of moving.”
— Merce Cunningham
Finding walls
where there were
none before,
I stumble,
and fall
toward a point
perceived as distance,
yet, always here.
What I see is
only what I know;
perception’s a deception
one swallows entire.
The eye’s led on
from the outside in.
(June 2, 2020)
subtext 