Water spills through boulders,
in no hurry to fill the watering hole below.
Fallen trees lean in,
stretching for a taste
of the cool liquid,
as if it could replenish their vitality,
stand them back up to their old grandeur.
Everywhere around them
humans splash in the pool
formed by the rocks,
causing a raucous,
their coolers, inflatable tubes, towels, beer cans, wrappers, bits of old food,
lay spread,
marring the landscape.
Do the fallen trees hate disrespect,
or are they satisfied knowing that, one day,
the human epidemic
will die.

More okay things?
No anger?
I need more laughter.

An acid trip disaster,
left him mentally shattered
for a few hours.

Everything is *****.
Take a shower!
I can't go in that giant sink.
Then go to sleep!

More okay things?
We could move planets with this.
No anger.
More okay things!?

I'm pulling myself from the cracks
of this apartment.
Scraps of memories,
tell-tale signs of my life.
It's not a harsh break up,
just a "it's-a-long-time-coming"
kind of thing.

I found a new space,
ready to be filled with loving,
songs, art,
a place to share,
to unfold,
to start.

Sometimes I retreat,
my feet strapped down,
my knees meet concrete.

I don't know what I speak.
Mumble, repeat, mumble.
A spelling stumble reminds me
to remain humble in a jumbled time.
Boxed up baubles, cobble together a bookcase.
Sort through, dispose, re-use,
erase distasteful fables, revised babbles,
scrap it all.

******* not meant to publish,
whisk it away with a quick wrist flick,
squeeze it out like a zit,
gargle and spit.

I try to pour this light
from my insides,
brighten up the walls
that hold you.

I should see a foot doctor.
My knees ache,
and it ain't like I've been
standing up for myself too much
or sitting down too long.
But they sing their song of pain
again, and again, and again.

I don't pen anything anymore,
maybe a jot there or a line here,
so am I a writer?
How long does it take a "while"
to become a "used to"?
I'm no Du Fu.
I'm no Li Bai.
I should say goodbye,
smile and wave as writing
passes me by.

Sipping coffee,
staring out the office window
at verdant trees, calm.
Children lay in the streets,
twitching from toxins
filled in their lungs.
A father clutched his two dead babies.
Humanity defeated by hatred,
or money.
Missiles launched,
tomahawks flung in the name of Democracy.
Missiles whose name is stolen,
painted over by Democracy's ****** wake.

But today, I am
sipping coffee,
staring out the office window
at verdant trees, calm.