The papers are wet with ink.
Russia is losing it's war.
North Korea is swamped with the Covid.
Tucker is backpedaling his replacement theory.
Finland and Sweden are enrolling.
Armament shipments are making a difference.
The Pope is apologizing.
That needs repeating: The Pope is apologizing.
(But why stop with the Aboriginals. Consider the Jews and Irish).
Fossil fuels are on the decline.
(plastic microchips are in our fat)
I can still buy Roundup.
Tobacco is banned in most public places here.
*** is not.
There are more drunks, and more behind bars, and in front.
We have safe injection sites.
I have robots asking me if I'm a robot.
There are more tv stations selections.
TV is not worth watching.
LPs are making a comeback.
Right to Life is Wrong for Many.
... and on... and on

~
cracked compass
burning atlas
no sense of direction
on a drive about
the silent forests of the heart
egressing from the shadows
that hunt for us

foot caught on the accelerator
passing escapism's plateau
like a dissolving shelf of flashbacks
kept in a glass jar
it's normal to tire out
wondering who will it be
looking in the window?

the people at the wheel
are not on the payroll
they're pierced and sheer
on the surface
but their deepest parts
still inhabit bone
and slave for mere feldspar
once again human thoughts
turn to crystalline
and still they shine for us

signs are posted:
"a time for vanishing, lay it to rest"
until the unfamiliar sound
of the walls of Jericho
collapsing
breaks the momentum
quiets the traffic

we entered a promise land
on cruise control
with too many exits
and not enough things to see
we did not end up
where we thought we'd be
those eyes at dusk
in the rearview mirror
they hunt for us
they wait for sleep
~

It's been a long day.  You
died so soon ago and we notice
your noise is gone, the parakeets and me.
You should comment somehow on
the oddness of things
since your disease.

The paranoia and lies the dementia
played made your dreams seem like
waking and your sleep tore into

you with fantasies and confusion.
You shouldered the  nurses by
telling them you felt fine.  That
lie pushed you to more agitaton.

I never knew you would get well.
I was cursed with a colder reality.  
As I drove to see you in the cocoon
of the nursing home I wondered
would you be crying or well.  

It was the crying I never unfolded.
in your room where we so carefully
braided the colors to your whims.
The colors are the same today.

Now wilted, the bright sun's rays
like the daylight dim but your harsh
yellow teeth spread around my
name and you saw me beaten
and unforgiven

You took me with you to the
Hell of brass urns.  I thought
to ask you why but the look
on your framed face said you
were waiting and your yellow
grin dared me to be quiet.

I saw the years in stark
isolation.  
You in a painted slicker,
I knew you
loved me once and
briefly.   Your journey
was a long one. Mine is

to shower daily your burnt
name across the
yellow ******* of

chared Sorrow

off.

Caroline Shank
May 15, 2022
.

I am black with love
neither boy nor nightingale
intact as a flower
I yearn without desire.

I arose amid violets
at the day’s first light,
sang a song forgotten
in the unchanging night.
I said to myself: “Narcissus!”
and a spirit with my face
darkened the grass
with the glow of his curls.

by Pier Paolo Pasolini

You say you're okay!
But the ocean within your eyes,
Articulate a different prose.

~
gone to earth

left for dead

everything is tickety-boo

forget your iron-on measures

and scuttled installation

your life is a bakery

that cake is like your head

bittersweet

and full of regret

what am I reading these days?

a book across the stars

where dreams in the throes

of giddy aerosol cans

**** the passersby

and sleep against

the exit sign
~