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)
they said, then she said, and can you believe
it that this happened, then that happened too,
and I said that she should say, but then she
went and said that this was just way too much
to stand, much less believe like Santa Claus;
I am so upset that I stabbed myself
with my pen, and wondered if I would die:
but first answer me this: “if you’re tattooed
on your lip, do you have to hold the lip
the whole time, or do they do that for you?”
as she stared into space holding her lip
lost in the quandaries of everything
not involved with the task which was right there,
and not there like an answered Zen koan.
(February 28, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (15)
from the upstairs window
the grey cat waits
and watches shadows
shift like dark flowers
dance in morning light
(January 21, 2020)
In the air, starlings
pulse between chaotic winds.
Quickly, cars rage past.
(December 19, 2019)
My mind’s blank again;
the mirror reflects the room:
(October 30, 2019)
I put on my socks.
The sun slides across the sky.
I take off my socks.
(October 15, 2019)