The road home
winds through mountains
light and shadow play games
mimicking the cruelty of kin’s
harsh love
Dec 28, 2021
Dec 28, 2021 at 3:13 AM UTC
Night falls
in parking lot
emptied of cars, crisp air
and not a pathogen in sight
Breathe out
Dec 28, 2021
Dec 28, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC
“Death is nothing to us, for when it is,
we are not, and when we are, it is not”
is a simple argument which boxes
in sad fears, staving off the luscious draw
of material acquisition and
its frenemy clinical depression;
it’s Seneca who promised to open
his veins in a warm bath, and did just that
because the emperor ordered him thus
and we know what ******* Socrates did
curing himself of life like a disease
equating obedience with justice
but my will is strong even as madness
swirls, I’ll oblige no hemlock nor razor
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 11:43 AM UTC
Money is imaginary.
Just ink on cotton.
Governments print
as much
as they want.
We fight
over who gets the most and
who deserves the most.
Do we heal the sick,
grow food,
build houses,
make clothes?
Time unfailingly passes.
We hock it for a pittance.
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 6:25 PM UTC
ashes are for scattering
as people are for holding
too late to do different by them
once wind has had its say
constant soil remaining mute
is nourished in spades
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 7:33 PM UTC
Desde un rascacielo miro
fijamente las luces brillantes
pero soy ciego, un infante
aparte del mundo de abajo
Desde las montañas, y sus picos
vientos suenan al horizonte
tocando el sol invariante
estar sólo, tan magnificado
Pero todo lo que ve no es nada
¿Qué es esta luz del cielo?
¡Un resol! El sol es tu sonrisa,
¿O la música de la tierra?
Las aves solo cantan ruido
Solo quiero oír tu risa
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
Each sorrow is the child of a happiness
you thought would never end;
Every happiness is a sadness
I may not survive—
a brilliant October day
lying back in dock hammock suspended
quoting bits of Rilke and starlight anthems
the shadows cast by buildings and frogs
ink drawings made on August nights
by our beautiful chain-smoking artistette
admiring a giant spider friend who’d
spun her majestic web and vanished
while we were swimming
backdrop of bay and boys and cherries
creaky boardwalks under bare feet
and stickiest pine and sand darkness
photos over wing clouds below
creepy call to prayer from ancient Mosque
at twilight punctuating strange dreams
perfect reconciliation on hotel balcony
McDonald’s after soaring from Black Sea
to Bosporus Straight, edge of Asia
visible on the horizon and all of life
a nightmare from which I can’t get woke
terrorized by ***** donor bonesaws
homophobic maternal afternoon rejection
peace that passeth no understanding
when you’re a ******* genius or just
a few points lower sorry never enough
compassion leaking through pores
drawn out by steam more darkness
Eucalyptus perfumed
another flaccid experience on a stranger’s
bed recalling Hippocrates on the drive
away after more bad ***
shots of sauces and grilled roasted
poached lentils bespoke chickens finery
malodorous wafts limestone smoothed
by centuries of acidity oily tourist touches
but they’re in Mexico Australia India
we’re back at home twins calling
each day an error of time rounded off
the incorrigible quark refusing
to cooperate with Einstein choosing its
own entangled path and lighting fools
what beautiful skyline
what amazing celebrity capture
what nostalgic group assemblage
what **** cute puppy who’s no more pup
what swanky tailored look
what smiles what smiles what seriousness
the soft and supple features curves lines
practiced looks and wayward hairs
a simple flourishing according to the lens
so much that skin conceals and eyes
beer garden sidewalk orations
wedding after party for April fools
we were who dance grabbing rings
swinging wildly discussing the vulgarities
of gastronomy and digestion
tumbling into diners midnight offices
brick lined streets magical talks
demonstrations and ideas unbounded
carving pumpkins into likable politicians
we think are statesmen and wailing
when she loses winning a trophy case
buckling under weight of moral victory
the thought of skyscrapers lit
shining under heaven unsubtle insinuation
we’re better than all this nonsense
and stronger having raised this glass
and steel by our own hands, our parents
rather now maybe that’s confusion
erecting higher stairwells to escape
encroaching seas and bums below
all memory all happy every laugh
each rumination on the hours
kisses cocktails cuddles laughter
that perfect vest completed outfit
those thrift store jeans that shirt
that secondhand one speed bike
those lunches with the priest
those brunches with the students
those happy hours with the coworkers
those dinners with the beard
all interchangeable parts in show
theater of recollection one subway car
one taxi ride one bus to NY or DC
one flight to Seattle or Vegas
or some Floridian seascape, mansion
each cog or bit like paper currency
imbued with no value but buying
the totality of lived experience
from which to draw upon in sad elsewhere
—but they cut deep, well meaning though
whenever was now isn’t and can is blind
to what day will ever be when I can say
in truth now sadness isn’t.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
Girls will be girls
they’ll sing and dance
so boys can’t help but grab
girls right in their underpants
Girls will be girls
they’ll flirt and sass
but they never ****
‘cause they aren’t crass
Girls will be girls
they’ll study hard
to ****** the boys
who’ll mow the yard
Girls will be girls
they’ll say no and stop
but we won’t believe them:
the boys are cops!
Girls will be girls
they’ll cook and clean
and raise the kids
but must stay lean
Girls will be girls
they’ll work all day
and take home just part
of what boys are paid
Girls will be girls
they’ll talk and chat
but then get hysterical
when boys call them fat
Girls will be girls
they’ll wear nice dresses
and never soil them
wiping up boys’ messes
Girls will be girls
they’ll run and vote
while boys drink beer
and win and gloat
Girls will be girls
and we know what that means:
they must always smile
and never scream
Girls will be girls
so let’s hope and pray
that girls are girls enough to save
this ****** up world
we boys have made.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
Jack wants me to fight his dad
And pappy but isn’t sure why
Swords are still plastic or foam
And guns are unknown and dead
is just a word so fighting is the stuff
of cartoons and storybooks
Fighting is exciting and what men do
So when Keri asks if he knows
That we could get hurt he’s confused
And when I leave the car he’ll still
Hug me and grab onto my leg
to stop me from going; I pause
and wonder who has it right,
him or us: who knows how to fight?
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
First, you have get to an email address
and then fashion a sculpture
out of daisies and moonbeams
as a wedding present for your love;
practice your poetry because
it will come in handy when tongue tied;
pentameter is a pocket ace
and the game is cutthroat so you’re
gonna wanna have some ready;
calisthenics are required
as is having the right politics
but dissimilar guacamole preferences
are usually alright for awhile;
be sure to develop a tolerance
for sand between your toes;
learn to frolic, but never skip;
don’t buy a boat because nobody
has time for a sweater cape enthusiast
and drowning is very unromantic;
Grow roses and cook eggs every way
you can but ever respect the bacon;
Practice looking longingly;
Toss your hair and brush your teeth;
**** your socks but carefully
maintain just enough flaws
to seem endearing and then
forget all this because the only
time you chose to fall is suicide
and it’s kind of like a bridge jump,
so it’s time to just lie back and enjoy
the dopamine rush while it lasts;
you’ve roped a unicorn,
the fleeting chemistry of
your synapses will thank
or blame you later.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC