Kentucky nights bring stillness
but not silence

tranquility shrouds creatures of the night
their symphony betrays that.

Grasshoppers and crickets chirp ceaselessly
microorganisms making music of magnitude

introducing dusk to night
with unintelligible cheering.

Timid critters make their presence known
using the anonymity of darkness

raccoons and opossums wail in the distance
their cries aren’t a call to action but a wild expression

they could be dying—they could be giving birth
it’s always one or the other.

Vulnerable bellowing brings out the dogs
for a canine crescendo

projecting power into the air
raised hackles raise spontaneous barking

echoing through the ravine
alerting newts and neighbors alike.

The noise is paused as dogs are brought inside
the faint murmur of scolding replaces them

like an aria without an aside
the air is still again

until a pack of coyotes complete the satz
finding their prey as the night’s finale.

We have a conversation
talking for hours
maintained interaction
reveals personality.

We have ***
an exercise of empathy
maintained interaction
reveals vulnerability.

We have an argument
perceptions clash
maintained interaction
reveals differences.

We have a fight
fists fly strategically
maintained interaction
reveals aggression.

We have a war
priorities projected through tactics
maintained interaction
reveals love and hate.

We have a life
harmony is obscured by disconnection
maintained interaction
reveals humanity.

You say you’re the perfect puzzle
and I’m just a crooked piece
that refuses to fit in.

You say I’ll never grow up
yet you’re Impeder Pan
living in Betterland.

If one is good and two is better
then you are two
and I am zero.

You say a blank white canvas is perfect
and my paint only obstructs the view
yet my blank canvas is just nothing.

I never live up to your measurements
because you only measure once
before you begin cutting.

So you give me a test to rate me 1-10
and tell me a perfect score
is the number one followed by a zero.

You ask me to rate Kevin in Kelvins
expecting me to cynically sell the Celsius
as not as fair in height as your Fahrenheit.

It sets you off
knowing I was turned on
like the freeway exit away from you.

You say I can’t see the forest through the trees
I say you’ll see the forest once you’re on your knees
then you say you will be a plains walker as you please.

You plant charges of C4
telling me “expect to see more”
submerging me under the sea floor.

You say the end
justifies you being mean
which just means being average.

You cut the cord
before I can pull the plug
once we’re at the end of our rope.

You say you’re perfect
as long as you’re without me
finally, something we can agree on.

Some people have a jungle mentality.
They say if we lived in the jungle
the strong would dominate the weak.
But this isn’t a jungle
it’s so far from the jungle it’s impossible to say
exactly who the strong and the weak are
when there are so many variables
and the society we live in
dictates the skills and attributes we acquire.
Yet some people try to turn society into the jungle
because they think they’d thrive there
but their jungle doesn’t have trees
it has chimpanzees cut off at the knees
nor does it have a sustainable ecosystem
it has concrete walls and steel bars
where they beat the small and leach the large.
The ape beating its chest the hardest
hoards all the bananas
while its shrewdness starves.
The only jungle it resembles is Upton Sinclair’s
but before that jungle can be realized
they have to plant the jungle mentality in our minds.

Can art and religion coexist
When art is about asking questions
And religion is about providing answers?

Two men square up
in an octagon
they circle each other
they try angles
to find the wrecked angle
to reach the top of the pyramid
for a diamond reward
to make life on this sphere bearable
because deep down in our dome we know
we preach the Holy Triangle
but ignore the lessons of the cross
hope takes the shape of its negative container
which is half empty so we’re always divided by two
the octagon mentality is reflected in the Pentagon
people fill rectangular plots in the ground
while others profit from manufacturing projectile cylinders
hiding behind stars and stripes
while we fight one another with dollar signs
in the eyes ovals stream from
we see the trapezoid we’ve built for ourselves
where our circular lives take the shape of a fist.

On one side of me lies one
on the other side of me lies the other.

The one is the one
the other is the other.

The one separates me from one another
the other turns the one into just another one.

There is no other one
so all the others are ones.

Stay with the one
or be the other.

One or the other
pick one.