Es ist in der Selbstbeschränkung,
     die ein Meister zunächst selbst zeigt.*
         - Goethe
We are,
by definition,
our limitations,
especially
those we choose.

They trace
the borders
of our being,
create our
distinctive,
singular
humanity.

Lines we cross
at great peril.

OK. Today may be dull. It happens. Sure.
But tomorrow remains rife with possibilities.

Podcasts of Trump on on the value of modesty.
Street fights in several extinct languages.
Hillary wins at Detroit poetry slam.
Jihadists explode poodles in crosswalks.
Island countries wave & grin as they sink.
***** flicks found starring Merkel and Putin.
A sane, reasonable presidential election.
Angry cats with opposable thumbs rebel.
Men & women speaking & understanding each other.
Brock Turner announces *** change operation.
God announces: No More Mulligans!
Gender wars conclude. Everyone’s dead.
Debut of lost Bach Partita for Electric Kazoo.
New, hip-hop production of Treblinka: The Musical.
Shakespeare cloned. Buys poetry anthology. Dies.
End-up, instead of start-up, launches in Palo Alto.
Smart phones install apps with annoying ads on users.
Common sense becomes common again.
Victimless rhymes decriminalized.

This is America! Never two dull days.
Take Heart! Tomorrow, there be Wonders…

not so much writing as stuttering, said L.W.
no matter. The whole always false. donut.
only the peace meal may be milled to flower.
periplum. plot a coastline. only pieces seen.
fear unity. seek multiplicity. in a grain of sand.
rethink. remake. re-imagine. explore chaos.
old trials lead nowhere. only blind allies.
forms remain but meaningless. void. nada.
sweet sounds engender projectile vomiting.
foundations all rotted. build anew on a nothing.
chains do not signify. schizophrenic fragmentation.
the world and everything in it. complex system.
complex systems temporal. made of time. tick.
turbulence & unpredictability. not unlike weather.
poem a piece of time. complete universe. hole.
prose means. poetry makes. difference of kind.
form is meaning. words only place markers.
never theory. of stuff. practical & experimental.
art desires dissonance even as the ear rejects.
polar bear on white canvas howls to pallid moon.
take up tools. create the unknowable knowable.
      who surfs the froth of anarchy’s wave
      reaps only the freedom of the brave.

We gaze
upon the unseen,
give voice
to the
inexplicable.

i am the canary
in the binary
singing bars hard

distal phalanges
tap the app
till these trills mean something

the oolong tea leaves
in the bottom of the witch's teacup
told me doom and bloom

was nigh
as ****.

her words quavered
like dead grass clippings falling up
into the discerning violet scry

she's there
in the full moon
& the beat of the rhythm

she's there
in the way the music works
like she played those notes

she's there
in the lyrics & how
the words rhyme

she's there
around my head with the sounds
that make a melody

there she is
dancing in death &
still present

a gift you unwrap
passing the parcel
underneath layers

she's there
in the core of a package
& I miss her

& I keep on missing her
but she's there
in everything I do

she tells me
what to do and what to say
as I play

records we liked together
then it's time
to turn off the radio

that she listened to
between the pain from the bones
& the liver ache

they zapped & they radiated
until none of that worked
but she stayed

until that never happened
& nurses attended
in a room with a view

of a sandstone wall
where men sold their stuff
all those years ago

planting seeds that corroded
every part of her
while she crocheted

her way out of some
kind of abyss
that I can't help but miss

then she spoke of
smoking with that lady
who knew me better

than any other woman,
on a night in August
with the moon full

I feel you
wandering through my own
meanderings

that I can't understand
you
keep asking questions

without answers
so I type & I rewrite
the story of you

a woman of substance
who makes me shed
tears

for what might have been
but never was
then that final breath