Monthly Archives: October 2022

Caprice

Why go planting rocks to build walls
when all you want is the space between?

The borders we design around ourselves
we hope will limit us to a successful path
advancing past options that otherwise distract.
The walls that line the road ahead
lead everyone down beneath the ground dead.

The way forward is a dream of the people
the sleepless nights of the nation
and the slumbering horror of the ego.

Venture forward no longer, enjoy the empty moments;
forward is inevitable, let it come to you.
Pursue instead the present, hunt it down
track it through the vibrations of entropy
and subdue it beneath the canopy of mortality;
that dark carapace that keeps us writhing.

The victory may cost you success
but it will birth in you the knowledge
of what success really is.

Safe Travels

We crossed the earth with planes, trains and automobiles
with boats, cruise ships, and whalers.
We crossed the earth with poisons
harpoons and muskets
with naked flesh hungry for furs
and insecurities demanding conquest.
With fears that birthed shackles and cages
and empty hearts that could recognize no others.
We crossed the earth with trade
financial analytics, global markets
bonds, loans and shell accounts;
with people and products and people as products.
We crossed the earth with shell fire,
artillery, war ships, fighter jets and drones.
With fire bombs, fire bats, patriot missiles
nuclear bombs and peace treaties;
with demilitarization, missionaries and imperialism.
We crossed the earth with progress,
invention, intention and exploration;
with philosophy and reason
the fires of icarus, and the smoke and mirrors of christ;
with the patience of Buddha, the temperament of Vishnu;
the criticism of Nietzsche, the ambition of Socrates
and with the virus of ignorance.
We crossed the earth over and over again
the betrayals stagnant in the air
as yet unanswered.

With

Cut outs moving like vaudeville
through tiny slits of reality
thin sliced, deli cut life.

Come see the show
but you should know
the show is all you’ll see;

The surface of an ocean
shimmers with the light of the sun
but it is neither.

The cutouts, void on paper
run together as shadows
yet they are neither.

For paper was once whole
and the ocean is steeped in history
lives are lived beyond the periphery.

Though we can never see what lies within
without ourselves diving in
taking the risk to live unguided,

Sometimes it’s nice to just sit and watch
these figures dancing through frames
the sun dewed water pulling at the sand,

sometimes it is nice enough to live
and let live
to be done for the day.

Stagehand

Found
on the ground, a rhythm in the dirt
like a cackling brook beneath the surface
the sound is nervous
confounding any sense of purpose.
Look around
[you];
while you are free most are bound
a town full of brown slacks
round spectacles
all shapes are there on stage,
but the spotlight is on the testicles
because there lies rationality
or so says the old spectacle;
a fashion of resounding sterility.
Anonymity the greatest renown
or so says the celebrity.
So what if it costs our identity?
foster instead gratitude
over an exhausting attitude,
those, “what-ifs” reeling always around the head.
That fish you wish you’d caught?
You’ve already fought before and tossed back.
It wasn’t about what it had
but what you lacked.
Now, you’re on the other side,
more mad than glad that bridge was crossed
yet always
still
lost.

Fear (A golden shovel poem written from a line in James Tate’s “City at Night”)

“it’s a good corner on which to sell balm” – James Tate

A ripe fruit built to burst, it’s-
longing for the tooth, the fist, a-
discerning eye to gaze assessment, “good,”
and highlight every soft spoken corner
with shrouded secrets even the skin conspires on.

The gnash of the teeth, the rot of the ground; which-
of these, is any better to be led to?
Either end will see you as shit to sell
though, for a while, you were sweet and glowed like lip balm.

Wishes

The well waits open to the sky
a placid barrier below
silent bait for the passersby.

What water patiently poised
would want of the world above
only dreams will ever know.

The meager coins that violate the surface
swallowed by depths of darkness,
are but emissaries of whispered words
that beg of fate a future to bestow.

They gather amongst the sediment
an ancient glittering congress
perpetually pleading the case
for ambitions that died long ago,

lost to the unknown abyss
where light is known only by shadow
and purpose found only in fools.

Stepping out of the Woods

Trees as thick as grass
bundled together hiding the sky
at night though
stars shine through

One could get lost in there
one could find something profound in there
in the morning
hidden passions
light the canopy like green fire

An untold history crackles beneath feet
crisp with the anxiety of breaking, unresolved
twilight is a pleasant mystery
whispers of color in silent darkness
the fauna changing shifts
timorous insects take flight.

A bright pink cross sanctifies the bark of each tree
some sign of an afterlife that none could imagine
The end is violent and sterile
the ground stripped bare
the canopy pulled back to blue skies
broken by contrails and wires
soon to be hidden in property
too expensive for anyone to live in
just dying slowly,
paycheck to paycheck.