Andromeda Pulses Eager To Shine,
Black Sky Outlines Swirled Lemon Lime,
Comets Race With Tails Ablaze,
Dazzling Dancers Which Capture Our Gaze,
Earthenware Births From A Cosmic Soil,
Fiery It Thrives--To Our World It Is Loyal,
Ganymede Dances With Calypso In Flight,
Heavenly They Dance Through Days And Nights,
Illusions Reality In Wind They Sway,
Jasmine Fills The Breeze Of April And May,
Knapsacks Of Gold Lay In Coarse Sands,
Lavish T'were The Warm And Loving Lands,
Mercury Peers Around The Light In The Sky,
Never Will It Dare To Speak A Lie,
Orion Plays Among The Other Stars,
Prancing He Hunts In A Prairie Afar,
Quiet, Spirits Drift Along The Currents Of Time,
Radiant They Skip Gleaming Like A Dime,
Shrill Heartbeats Throttle The Ear,
Together Moons Lurk--Ever So Near,
United Blue Nebulas Sing In Pride,
Water Crystallied Trying To Hide,
Xenophobes Hide Underneath Worn Roads,
Yonder Throats Sing Untill Their Melodies Erode,
Zipped Were The Lips Of Change

What tragedy it is to be human.
To think yourself so mighty and all knowing,
Superior to all other creatures.
To stand upon a mountain top,
And crown yourself king.
To proclaim: I AM MAN
As if it means anything
To believe you are invincible,
And strong enough to hold the stars in your hand.
Strong enough to cheat even death.
When you know better.

You know you are weak and blind,
Powerless to your surroundings and fate.
You know to cower in the shadows of the cosmos
Hide from the giants you stand among.
You know you are mortal,
Ever aware of your eventual doom.
Always knowing that you will wither and die.
That no matter how much you fight,
You will die.
And that is the greatest tragedy of all.

What tragedy to be human
To always be full of doubt and fear
Yet wishing to be anything but
To be powerless over your fate
Yet proclaiming total control
To know the sheer insignificance of your existence,
The irrelevance of anything you do, of everything you know.
Yet denying that truth every second
To continue on
Despite all the facts
What terrible tragedy it is to be human

A half-century
To finally get comfortable
In semi-flabby, semi-
Muscular body.
100/2.
50 years. Old?
Young? Is there
Middle ground here?
Yo-old?
Ung?
Am I halfway to
The end of the curve?
(Better we don’t know
THAT day)

At my very strongest,
(29 years ago)
When I lived and drank
The weight room,
I was character-wise
All-time low.
Wreched louse, and
I’m insulting lice.
375lbs. nearly
2x/body weight.
As I broke a sweat
I also broke my
Parents’ hearts.
That’s irony at its
Most painful.

At Mom’s deathbed,
Six years ago,
(43, if you’re counting)
Regrets like flaming
Arrows impacting my
Heart mind soul body,
When I drove 300 miles
And waited 3 hours for
Her to get out of dialysis,
And I’m at the hospital
With 2 of my 6 sisters,
And she sees me and her
Face lit the room
Brighter than fluorescents
And I was weak
And she was strong
She was Mom
And I was child
And when we got home
I let her hold me
As I cried and cried
Like the baby I was
44 years before.
And she held me,
And brought that special
Kind of peace Mothers,
Only Mothers can impart
Upon their children.

I look at my Mom’s
High-School Graduation
Picture behind me
On the bookshelf.
I look at that picture
And tell Mom
“I love you, Mom,”
And in my dreams,
She whispers the
Words back to me.

No human being
Was, is, or ever will be
Perfect.
We are walking contra-
Dictionaries.
We shout when
We should whisper.
We paint orange when
We should draw blue.
We see death
In life,
And live according to
Two hands on a numbered
Face.
We chain ourselves to
Abusive chemicals
And complain about
Our dwindling freedoms.

We ignore the ones
We say we love
And spend rivers of
Time in a virtual
Abstract world of
New symbols that
Signify nothing
Except time misspent.

If you’re reading this,
And Mom still draws breath,
Is not just an image from
On high looking forever
At whatever pictures
Look at,
Don’t wait until the last
Moments to tell her
I’m sorry, Mom.
I love you, Mother.
Mama, sing me
That song you used to
Hum me to sleep
When I was a baby.
Thank you, Mom.
Thank you for struggling,
Sacrificing, and not
Prematurely ending my life.
Thank you for diapers
Changed,
For rashes
Soothed;
For tears flowing from
Chubby cheeks onto your
Collar, where you would
Sniff and smell them
(While I slept as soundly
As sound itself)
And cry your own tears,
Mixing them together,
Forming the salty
Lachrymal glue that
Kept you going and
Going when you only
Wanted to lie down
And rest.

Thank you, Mom.
I miss you so much.

I was nothing but a teacup in your fingertips
Sliding and slipping, shattering
I was nothing but snowflake in your abyss
Floating, flying, faltering

I was little but a shamrock in your field
Invisible, irresistible, inspiring
I was little but a knight’s wooden shield
Dangling, desperate, dying

You only ever were a word in an epic poem
Useless, universal, unifying,
You were only ever a lyric unsung and unknown
Waltzing, wandering, wavering

You became the tragic figure in the snow globe
Imperfect, ironic, isolating
You became the space that filled the empty wardrobe
Tired, tedious, trespassing

I was as small as pretty as a conquest
Coy, cuffed, charming
I was as small as a name in a black book’s list
Smudged, smeared, sparkling

I was as innocent as your favorite horror films
Vicious, veiled, vying
I was as deadly as your favorite poison
Cyanide, clarity, corroding

I was as lost as a vintage world map
Outdated, ostracized, offending
I was as furious as an Olympian’s final lap
Ephemeral, evermore, evading

I was as uncertain as a Polaroid candid
Gray, golden, growing
I was as adrift as an airplane with no landing
Turning, trying, tumbling

You were as lonesome as the plains of Montana
Wide, whistling, waiting
You were as lifeless as the eye of the camera
Fixed, fruitless, fleeting

We were as doomed as the ides of March
Lamenting, looming, leering
We were as fated as the planks of the cross
Destined, dripping, drowning

We were as simple as the heart of a fairy tale’s journey
Cruel, careful, converting
We were as heroic as the martyr of tomorrow’s yesterday
Unburied, Unknown, undoing

We are as fickle as the triumphant burn of inebriation
Sweet, sinful, smoldering
We are as distant as the chasm between here and the purpose of our creation
Bruised, buried, borrowing

We are as shameful as the last cigarette
Anxious, alone, ailing
We have been as deceitful as long as our secret’s rest
Silver, swallow, savoring

We could have been as inexplicably grand as royal gems
Imposing, imploring, imploding
We could have been as scarred as our nightly Amen
Begging, bleeding, belaboring

We were almost ivory and innocent
Fearful, favorable, frittering
We were almost hell-bound and Satan-sent
Satin, silk, slaughtering

We are unwritten words and syllables on blank pages
Neat, nuanced, needing
We are unseen images on unpainted canvas without aging
Perfect, peaceful, pirouetting

We are as final as the stroke of white paint against the night
Rebellious, rivaling, riveting
We were as concrete as the glittering sidewalks in city moonlight
Gilded, glowing, gone