There was no time
for good-bye.
And, what she promised
would never happen, did:
she was gone;
he was not.
(July 27, 2019)
-
Arithmetic Progression
Here,
Now:
my day,
my days,
my lost ways–
once again
drag me along
singing some song,
as if I can change
the world with a word;
as if I can compete
with the comfort of god:
knowing what will happen next,
knowing why I’m here at all.
(July 25, 2019)
-
stucco
like pressed flowers
found in an old book
the world grows flat
long passages of white
on white– white sand
below a white sky
holding a white sun
a black line defines
the horizon like a closed eye
there’s no sleep in this noise
no rest from the silent mundane
oozing across a glass pane
the snail’s slow slime
becomes the air we traverse
connecting the featureless day
to the homogeneous night
clouds press low like stones
(July 24, 2019)
-
The Commute Between Day and Dream
Lost amid the accusations
and misappropriations
in bars and vague hallways,
he wakes into his troubles
unable to disaggregate
his shadows from the dawn.
Behind him, they trail ribbons
of smoke, curling about his feet
like cats hunting rats,
whenever he stops to think.
From frozen puddles, old friends
and loves rise toward him;
their faces blurred beneath ice.
They then sink away, as quickly,
leaving him to shuffle his fingers
uncomfortably across the steering wheel
as he waits for the light to change.
(July 24, 2019)
-
A Thin Arrogance
As if I have anything
to say, I ponificate
more than I listen;
a silent skull one
assumes is laughing.
(July 18, 2019)
-
A Gleaner Dons a Disguise
by
From bits she left behind,
he pieces himself together:
thousands of shards sifted,
then rearranged to form
fused-glass mosaics
into patterned fascimiles
others easily recognize.
(July 18, 2019)
-
drowning
by
an inch is as easy
as an ocean
to drown, we venture
into waves, unafraid
one is different
from the next and next
rolling vast undulations
toward the horizons
(July 13, 2019)
-
eros
four haiku with a tanka couplet
her nightgown slips
past her hips
as she steps toward him
*
her skin cool
beneath the sheets
simmers at his touch
*
a fan rattles
over tangled sheets;
cicada pulse the heat outside.
*
she wakes before dawn,
and slips from bed,
leaving him alone
*
like rain in drought, we
desire what remains
(July 8, 2019)
-
Before Completion
by
from “Rendition of Change,” a work in progress
The old tortoise-shell cat slips
cautiously through the grass
as the storm approaches.
This-too-shall-pass provides
small comfort in the moment’s
chaos and fear. Lightning strikes
often and nearby. As rain
starts to fall, the cat watches,
motionless, from the stair.
(July 3, 2019)
-
-
Confession as a Form of Explanation
My story is true in so far
as it is my story. The lines
I must maintain for my belief
to be justified are many.
I fear questions lest it all falls
like a child’s tower of blocks falls,
tumbled across unstable ground.
Although I know that the truth lies
for I formed each one on my own,
turning them over and over
like rosary beads until smooth,
they still allow me to believe
each stone lies firmly on the next.
With no one to doubt what I say,
the facade I have built is real
I explain to myself myself:
I live forms of happiness
As long as the ever after,
and the hero is always me.
(June 30, 2019)
-
Preponderance of the Small
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
At nine I wrote a poem
to a girl in my class — a love poem.
Today fifty years later,
I still write poetry.
Like a small bird flits
between branches, poetry
and love intertwine through
my life giving shape and succor
to even the quietest moment.
(June 30, 2019)
-
After the Trigger’s Pulled
by
Blood spatter slurs
on wet tile:
rorschach blots
without interpretations
(June 29, 2019)
-
Inner Truth
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
somewhere, nearby
vague, yet pervasive,
like these whispers
which define all
as some other than me,
some other voice–
always here
not just an echo
of myself
(June 24, 2019)
