to spark the story funny cards are best
that reindeer's bushy ******* and his backward grin
makes each of us a burly teamster Santa  
but best of all, the irony of ***-end-joy
makes this the perfect millennial American Greeting
                to plunk down the Wal-Mart buck-fifty for

alas, the real juice of narrative's left at the store
the all-night mind spins out its setting
action arch of dialogue to dénouement
then lost in the well-stocked silence of stuff

somewhere in those reels, maybe a better person
crafts hearts breaking open to a generous life
and emerges from those screenings joyful—
grateful for the chance to evolve from the self-serving
                multitude of errors sporting masks
posts gentle merry wishes and even ribald humor
                to that impossible God-blessed everyone

the Beginning
is the End
and versa-vice
and the End of the Beginning
is no other
than the Beginning of the End
blank night
engenders full day
dream is reality
can't you see
how everything
is nothing but its reverse
inside out?

within, we exist

tightly bound
by our intellect

somewhere in there
the drive to be
(and its reverse,
to not-to-be)
simultaneously
await our consciousness.

Outside my door
my dog whimpers
in its dreams
chasing whatever
archetypal ball
exists for him

and doesn't,
of course

As for me,
I will now wake up
and go to sleep

Mechanically, he turned and stepped away.
Though there remained a symphony to say,
the audience was obviously tired.
The orchestra was weak and uninspired.
And so he wandered up the street, and down,
through all the dry vernacular of town.
A thousand trivialities he passed
until the sidewalk brought him home at last.
He summited the dim and creaking stair.
He sank into the thrift store easy chair,
closed his eyes, and waited for her face.
She smiled at him. Then darkness took her place.

Heaving seas of uneven time

Misty misting mist in the air

Dylan had it pegged - from here, where is it we go?

To the mountain?
no thats been done before

Swim the canals?
from which we were born

Burrow in the ground?
sleep hard the winter long

Trickle into space?
fading bright like the diamond star

After here - it ain't all that you see

Cast aside - your dreams for sleep

Begin to end or - bend to win the prize

Toes in the sand - eyeball the flexing tide.

Be strong like a sun floating in her womb
Be thick like screaming vines that hang from cracks in the moon
Then leak like moments of falling rain on grains of sand

For thirsty leaves grow on stone-
then crumble into earth

Old gray skies tell tales-
of the once living dead

Breathe as the bleeding wound-
while hard wood forests sleep

Crying like a boulder-
bereft of a true north

Stumbling home a warrior-
that has no place to go...