My nose is my enemy,
Gathering ammo from the very air,
To be fired with an echoing report.

“God bless you!”

Pets, grass, space heaters, soap, the sun.
When I fight; it only becomes stronger.
If I take the defensive; it awaits an opening
like a samurai.

“God bless you!”

I give offering of exotic scents and tissues,
Of drugs and strange teapots,
Though these are but momentary distractions
As it plots my demise.

“God help you.”

coke bottle sits 5th step.
Full and sealed. Free.
Traffic eyes all steal down:
“but what if the rest see!”

Whole day pass,
vendor within 15 feet
sells three.

Crouched by the lakeside I grasp
a small stone, same as all its neighbours:
no jagged cliff-shorn shard of concussive weather
to be sent pounding across the surface,
but a smooth, round pebble, who traces a single arc
then vanishes from sight –
and the growing ring of ripples
the only testament to its passing.

As I wander on,
the waves of my lone effort are fading.
Yet, as each passing stranger
adds their own voice,
every wave harmonizes,
compounds upon its predecessors,
and once still waters accelerate
towards a resonating crescendo.

And my pebble rests below the surface,
unaware of the exultation above,
until wandering currents sweep it up,
back onto the lakeside once more.

I arise from my idle contemplation,
and pour myself in.

The dream always beckons with a resolution,
while a new day holds unimagined sights.
Yet, the dream resolves only into continuation
ad nauseam through another wasted morning’s light.

While a new day holds unimagined sights,
I awaken mainly to delay alarms
ad nauseam through another wasted morning’s light,
stumbling blindly with an outstretched arm.

I awaken mainly to delay alarms
Yawning through bleary eyes into still weather,
stumbling blindly with an outstretched arm -
the clear morning looks a hopeless endeavor.

Yawning through bleary eyes into still weather,
I eventually haul these stiff limbs through ablutions.
The clear morning looks a hopeless endeavor,
though I can begin to glimpse possible solutions.

I eventually haul these stiff limbs through ablutions,
because the dream resolves only into continuation.
Though I can begin to glimpse possible solutions,
the dream always beckons with a resolution.

In stone vase
On stone table
On stone tile
On the second floor, held up by wood
Supported and surrounded by life being lived
But not here

Here a fragile facsimile of nature’s complexity
Is placed precariously to suit the artists’
Vision

Here ordered lines slash through space
While evocative contrast and magnified angles
Evince a quiet depth

Yet here the flower in stone bends still towards light
Away from the artist, towards chaos, towards life
Away from destructive simplicity

The camera’s flash reflects a desperate lust
To command, to control, to capture
What it needs to understand
What can’t be understood

When I was young he taught me how to be
A man; I only wish I could recall
Just what he said. Was it in something small
Of cooking, gardening or darts that he
Exposed his wisdom bare for me to see?
Or should I look to how he built his walls
And webs – the lies, attacks, denials and all?
Or the garage in which he turned his key?

Although, why not say **** it to his will:
It’s true he lit the tunnels’ exit where
He left, but now I can’t see through the glare.

But yet, I hold these memories with me still,
For as I trudge defiant on through miles
I bear his doom, and can’t forget his smile.