in the background
chattering updates

a wolf howling
listening out for answers

deep in the marrow
unseen forces

someone pressed enter
all forever changelings

the wolves
stick to the same language.

Today, early on a
Saturday morning, I'm
trying a little trick I
learned from Bukowski.
I put on some classical
music and I am trying
to write.
Beethoven's 5th in C minor.

I sit in my favorite chair and
watch my black cat lie on the
back of the loveseat and
watch the snowfall.
She looks triumphant,
but it could just be the music.
The philodendrons that hang
around the house and the
bamboo plants seem happier, too.
There's no hope for the palm tree.

Well, the main thing is that I put the
pen to paper, and Beethoven,
my cat and you came along for the
ride.

Maybe the cellos, violins, and
trombones will fertilize my
creativity.
Now, my other two cats have joined
the fun.
They wrestle by the heater and laugh at
all the fat, rich *******.

Evening is on the take
The sun herself senses it
Her heat is slipping away
Eclipsed by cold, arctic tendrils
Rilling through the fragile geography
Earth is a strong fighter though
Able to restore itself in serene defiance
Light she brings to keep night in its place

Every splash of ink,
Every drag of this pen.

Is another gift in the face of common man,
An honor that is art to the human soul.

For if not for this music,
Spirits would grow old, crumbling in the cold.

Shadows dance along walls
Cold, undulating fire
Threatens to suffocate
My thoughts,—I go on walks
Outside, the golden leaves
Know how to be better.

A dormant forest sees
Balance between forces,
Ever-changing seasons,
The purposeful movement
Of critters and giants.

Is the forest moral?
Wolves know moderation
Better than most of us.
My reason breaks:
Do humans still bother
With being good
These days?

pharamones, fluidity of chemical signals
unseen, unheard wafting mix
conjoined minds invisible visable unity
one goal one purpose
peace to all creatures, Bees with sheathed stings.

Time draws close for dispersal.

Coming summer there'll be no traces
of the faces beaming at the gate.

Eyes sparkling lips apart
breaking into one more dance
to be in the sunlight under sky.

Hugs and kisses fly in the wind
maybe one last embrace
for all time to come.

They'll see the world differently
and their paths will never meet,
most likely.

The most intimate will become strangers
before once more
they disperse at the gate.

I turn back with the weight of this memory.