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Say only
what must be said
and ears will hear,
not merely listen,

Do only
what needs doing
and restless thought
will come to rest;

Think only
what creates beauty
and hearts will feel,
not take for granted.

For this world
is bright -- sharp --
it hurts to look at
for too long;

  For trauma
  demands a story --
  how what shouldn't
  comes to pass --

    For ugliness comes
    of the artifice of men
    creating in isolation
    their ******* essences

        And it is only the heart
               that can see rightly.
"Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux." ~from The Little Prince
Too-simple eludes as
too-complex disturbs
the instinct to grasp,
clutching at emptiness
in trembling fear

    Hope says, "there is
    always Hope,"

        A lure to elongate
        the reach, further
        overbalancing.

              Hope the crafty wolf
              stalks a deer in the glade.


Hope for what?
Acquire what?
Purchase what?
Become what --

           that could fulfill the yearning
           of the bough for the root?
           ...that could elucidate its relentless
           aspiration skyward?
           Oh, but if -- !

                   freeze at the snap of a twig

All aflutter at the
promise of sweet water
against seeking lips
     hungry fools chase
             Hope for a taste

          Into devil wilderness
       exposure threatening
   surviving by the teeth.
   Reduced to mating behavior,
         territoriality, predation --
              all else forgotten.

              the measured twitch and
                 watchful eye fail to outwit
                     the cunning wolf in wait


Nowhere we bring ourselves
is safe.
What compels you?
What is there to speak of
when identity includes
all things?

Generalities flowing
in breathless currents, drowning
        these hollow perceptions
        and empty comforts
        in wondrous depth --

Who is this "myself" but
attachment to a cage, a cage
that scarcely contains the force
  of conviction, the assault
       of passion?

Time the river of blood
flows upstream to source
in a pregnant oblivion
obscuring abortive abstractions,
   carelessly dreamt.

Something rages,
ever watchful. Whence
comes this terrible Eye? Whither
does it sleep, sparing
its awful gaze
and the hallucinations
of unceasing desire,

But in every bed?
Hunger and Desire grew
'til bellies everywhere were
ruined for sustenance,
so in went the troops to wage
war against ideas and
when they arrived there were no
soldiers to speak of

so they set up tents
and didn't go away

they sang drunken war-songs
until the moan of starvation bellies
sang louder and more terribly

"That must have been them
the whole time!" they said, and
suited up for the charge.
So they trained their shells at the city
excited to see if target practice
had done them any good

but all they did was mortar themselves to bits

squadrons of video-game experts
sent drones overhead to drop
Hallmark cards titled "Why it's your fault"
and coupon booklets for American
chain shopping outlets to come

but they only marginalized
and condescended themselves

"Bring in the reinforcements!"
they cried, even conscripting
their hapless targets. This mob,
too, was a hungry belly
bellowing for satisfaction,
a cannibal ***
simmering

So they set up tables and stacked
boring paperwork, filing away
spirits broken by shrapnel and white
phosphorus

but they only resigned themselves
to imaginary lines and the plunder
of Control, insensibly
****** themselves to death

while they watched,
perplexed.
“Two things are infinite:
the universe and human stupidity;
and I'm not sure about the universe.”
― Albert Einstein
Paved-over swamp sprawl
squalor of strip mall and
college-trough parking lots

No lap dances allowed,
though. this
is a decent place

with stand-your-ground laws
and sulphur in the water

Where groups of white
men chase men that look
different and white-haired veterans
yell "nip" from burgundy Buicks
with long pull at glinting flask

a decent
place for squirrels chattering
"*******!" between acorn-throws
and dinosaur cockroaches

And then the rain starts
and then everybody drives worse
and the guard-rails cringe

A decent place
where every road
charges a toll.
Ah, the college years.
To-night is dark, so
  step lightly and carry
  a large lamp into
  the howling woods

Wisdom says run, run
  to dark caves and
  harrowing silences
  mirror the bottomless

The abyss, gazing
  headlong into itself,
  recoils in horror,
  shudders dis-eased

And only lamp-light,
  courage flick'ring
  in oppressive depth
  persists, defiant

A stain on un-becoming
  a trampler of stars
  peddler of filth
  who knows all the answers.
'Twas the firm and fervent
    wish of a youth yet
        to flower into a jaded
           blossom, before understanding
        what it meant to love or why
    it was so important to learn
  to do it well,

whose childhood ended rather
      abruptly, watching the slow
        crumble of supposed soul-mates
            as love was not enough
        to overcome the inertia
   of their own.
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