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i watch
a child racing his bike uphill
chasing a purple sunset
mercifully he will never catch it
unless i'm wrong of course
and he realizes meaning
and he comes to understandings
all on his own, before he is prepared to
bear witness to  his own sadness
his place in the world
awakening too quickly, too young
to the ineffable journey
before him

its already begun
~for his biggest fan~

beloved, cause it is faithful,
comforter, sponge-grateful,
a travel companion, but more,
accepting foibles, base urges,
bad poems, acts of pettiness,
intolerant of self-deception,
it blankets with comfort, pulled
back when exposure required.

the holy dark, many named,
call it what you will, those who
read this, name it now, out loud,
what you call it, and I will hear it,
and bless your courage, and look
for you on pathways of embrace
a headline, a title, an instant self-commissioned
to live on, sponsored by these dying times,
a new poem, a different rabbit hole, a reflective surface
of in-between spaces, that separates letters, I am
that man, charter member, a voting citizen of the

The City That Never Sometimes Sleeps

the new traffic patters, i.e. no traffic at all,
messes up circadian rhythms, no trucks honking,
even the ambulances silenced, asking what’s the rush,
this year the cicadas, them too, took the seventh year off,
the strange silence wierded them out,
so they sheltered in place

our device, informs, it has been employed
20 hours 42 minutes of the last twenty four cycle,
don’t disagree, wonder only where the heck I was for
the 3 hours 18 minutes unaccounted

wasn’t sleeping, of that ‘rest’ assured,
must have been unconsciously
writing poetry, a voyage to my
beloved holy dark,
where nightly
he reimagines when things were
normal and empty streets were
a refreshing sight, a welcome change,
not a harbinger of the visible separation
between the living and the dead

— The End —