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RJ Days Dec 2021
The road home
winds through mountains
light and shadow play games
mimicking the cruelty of kin’s
harsh love
RJ Days Dec 2021
Night falls
in parking lot
emptied of cars, crisp air
and not a pathogen in sight
Breathe out
RJ Days Aug 2021
“Death is nothing to us, for when it is,
we are not, and when we are, it is not”
is a simple argument which boxes
in sad fears, staving off the luscious draw

of material acquisition and
its frenemy clinical depression;
it’s Seneca who promised to open
his veins in a warm bath, and did just that

because the emperor ordered him thus
and we know what ******* Socrates did
curing himself of life like a disease
equating obedience with justice

but my will is strong even as madness
swirls, I’ll oblige no hemlock nor razor
I don’t like this sonnet. I’ve been out of practice and haven’t written anything in a long time. I was trying to express a sense of mental fortitude in the face of adversity that I get from having studied philosophy, but the tone is kind of depressing. Posting it anyway.
RJ Days Mar 2020
Money is imaginary.
Just ink on cotton.
Governments print
as much
as they want.
We fight
over who gets the most and
who deserves the most.
Do we heal the sick,
grow food,
build houses,
make clothes?
Time unfailingly passes.
We hock it for a pittance.
RJ Days Jan 2019
‪ashes are for scattering‬
‪as people are for holding‬

‪too late to do different by them‬
‪once wind has had its say‬

‪constant soil remaining mute‬
‪is nourished in spades‬
RJ Days Dec 2018
Desde un rascacielo miro
fijamente las luces brillantes
pero soy ciego, un infante
aparte del mundo de abajo
Desde las montañas, y sus picos
vientos suenan al horizonte
tocando el sol invariante
estar sólo, tan magnificado
Pero todo lo que ve no es nada
¿Qué es esta luz del cielo?
¡Un resol! El sol es tu sonrisa,
¿O la música de la tierra?
Las aves solo cantan ruido
Solo quiero oír tu risa
Para Guillermo
RJ Days Oct 2018
Each sorrow is the child of a happiness
you thought would never end;
Every happiness is a sadness
I may not survive—
a brilliant October day
lying back in dock hammock suspended
quoting bits of Rilke and starlight anthems
the shadows cast by buildings and frogs
ink drawings made on August nights
by our beautiful chain-smoking artistette
admiring a giant spider friend who’d
spun her majestic web and vanished
while we were swimming
backdrop of bay and boys and cherries
creaky boardwalks under bare feet
and stickiest pine and sand darkness
photos over wing clouds below
creepy call to prayer from ancient Mosque
at twilight punctuating strange dreams
perfect reconciliation on hotel balcony
McDonald’s after soaring from Black Sea
to Bosporus Straight, edge of Asia
visible on the horizon and all of life
a nightmare from which I can’t get woke
terrorized by ***** donor bonesaws
homophobic maternal afternoon rejection
peace that passeth no understanding
when you’re a ******* genius or just
a few points lower sorry never enough
compassion leaking through pores
drawn out by steam more darkness
Eucalyptus perfumed
another flaccid experience on a stranger’s
bed recalling Hippocrates on the drive
away after more bad ***
shots of sauces and grilled roasted
poached lentils bespoke chickens finery
malodorous wafts limestone smoothed
by centuries of acidity oily tourist touches
but they’re in Mexico Australia India
we’re back at home twins calling
each day an error of time rounded off
the incorrigible quark refusing
to cooperate with Einstein choosing its
own entangled path and lighting fools
what beautiful skyline
what amazing celebrity capture
what nostalgic group assemblage
what **** cute puppy who’s no more pup
what swanky tailored look
what smiles what smiles what seriousness
the soft and supple features curves lines
practiced looks and wayward hairs
a simple flourishing according to the lens
so much that skin conceals and eyes
beer garden sidewalk orations
wedding after party for April fools
we were who dance grabbing rings
swinging wildly discussing the vulgarities
of gastronomy and digestion
tumbling into diners midnight offices
brick lined streets magical talks
demonstrations and ideas unbounded
carving pumpkins into likable politicians
we think are statesmen and wailing
when she loses winning a trophy case
buckling under weight of moral victory
the thought of skyscrapers lit
shining under heaven unsubtle insinuation
we’re better than all this nonsense
and stronger having raised this glass
and steel by our own hands, our parents
rather now maybe that’s confusion
erecting higher stairwells to escape
encroaching seas and bums below
all memory all happy every laugh
each rumination on the hours
kisses cocktails cuddles laughter
that perfect vest completed outfit
those thrift store jeans that shirt
that secondhand one speed bike
those lunches with the priest
those brunches with the students
those happy hours with the coworkers
those dinners with the beard
all interchangeable parts in show
theater of recollection one subway car
one taxi ride one bus to NY or DC
one flight to Seattle or Vegas
or some Floridian seascape, mansion
each cog or bit like paper currency
imbued with no value but buying
the totality of lived experience
from which to draw upon in sad elsewhere
—but they cut deep, well meaning though
whenever was now isn’t and can is blind
to what day will ever be when I can say
in truth now sadness isn’t.
How memories, even of happy times, can feel smothering when recalled from within the Bell Jar.
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