#tents
What does wind think of the encampment on North 7th
as it moves under the overpass, the bright blue nylon riffling,
work shirts on a rope, the entry flap breathing,
an old man’s head bent over a chessboard, a rook tipping over?
What does wind know? Easy to say: nothing,
to say it knows nothing sweeping the day’s trash
down the avenue. The crawl says: fires in the West;
men with AR-15s; a mother and child face-down in the river;
children in cages; the rise of this, the fall of that.
We say the wind knows nothing as it drives fire like a blowtorch
across the land. We blame the grid, the lineman, the line,
though we know better. We say the rain inside the wind
knows nothing, as mud swallows houses, houses fall to sea,
floods push through cities, the ocean takes back land.
We say wind and rain know nothing. We say there’s nothing
to do. The wind passes through us and goes on.
A gust pushes in. A tarp snaps. A rook tips.
The old man uprights it, and waits for the next turn.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
Pride is good.
Fear is bad.
But it's velocity that makes me sad.
Here I come.
False alarm.
Tents and fireworks to keep me warm.
Well, I can't say, what I don't know.
What's a ship without a captain after all?
And I can't preach, what I don't pray;
As I fall for every empty word I say.
And I wander, too.
And I wonder, too.
I stole a dream.
I wrestled a bear.
I watched the sun go down in Lincoln Square.
I stood upright.
I flexed my chest.
A heart in agony I went to bed.
Now here I come. Down the hall.
I keep my front door open after all.
But I can't preach, where I don't pray.
And I fall for every empty word I say.
And I wander, too.
And I wonder, too.
In the clouds - will I need a reason?
In the clouds - will I need to brag?
I can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
It’s your own book
But you don’t toe the line!
You ignore your own religion
But demand to control mine!
You deserve no credit
As far as I can see
Except that you excel
In blatant hypocrisy!
You wave your flags
And lionize the Old South
With things Jesus never said
Coming out of your mouth.
It’s almost like your mind
Is now permanently delirious,
Though you still demand that we
Should all take you serious.
Just like a guy in the local park
That seemed to suffer a mental pox,
The difference is, unlike that man
You don’t stand on any soapbox.
But both of you babble constantly
With precisely the same vanity
That the madness you spew
Should be accepted as sanity.
Neither of you care to understand
That spreading untruths can destroy
The wisdom of experience we have.
It blinds people to the precious joy
Of sharing love for love’s own sake;
Accepting people as blessed as you,
And as deserving of your good wishes,
Hoping their best dreams come true.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC