A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

Try the RANDOM button, to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.

*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.

but aren't they all random?

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Girlgun arm

I woke up as a robot with a
girlgun arm. An arm
that's a girl
that's a gun

and my girlgun arm

shoots salty, salty

I lay there,
of who
needed some.

Who had deserved

to get so played?

But I slipped
back asleep,
before I finished my plan,

and I began to dream
I was just a man.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Carousel Wheels

Life is a carousel on wheels,
rolling in ruts worn deep
down a wagon-road to hell

- which remains unpaved,
despite all the good intentions
we sell,

we just never get 'round
to the infrastructure. We wheel
as we roll, while we gaily carouse,

switching steeds and mounts, taking
turns in the chariot-carts, clinching
furiously. Reaching out

by ones
and by twos, we lean daring to grasp

with clutched hands
at the beautiful rings of gold

that were hung upon limbs of scaffolds
or trees, whizzing by as we pass
- that some of us catch! And we whoop
with joy, and we beg, and we please,

And we fall out, between us
annoyed or destroyed, to the floor
of the ride wheeling on and through. It's never
so easy to get to your feet
as it was to climb on,
back before you knew.

Come now, saddle up. You mustn't
show fear. Climb back on the dog
or the unicorn, trying to find

Someone else's eye, to give chase
to a catch, and surrender ourselves

to the way we were born.

boundary carved in breeze

People don't like me; I've decided.
Some of them. You know the ones.
Because they've decided I don't
care if they do.

That's fair. What people think
of me

is none of my business, and
entirely valid. What you see

is as true as how I feel! Tell it

from your authentic heart,

And I will be oh, interested
because it is interesting! People?

You're interesting. Every last
one of you

I've met, and
the one before that, too.
So far, I'm willing to abide
by your verdicts of mind and heart

where I'm concerned, because

hey, what am I supposed to do
to your mind? Change it? Ew.

I don't want to think
about that. Isn't that

one of the ten signs
of the narcissist or sociopath?

Mind manipulation! Or trying to? Come on

You can't. Those psychopaths are kidding
themselves. I

don't even try, and it speaks

well of me, even if, you know
I'm okay if it doesn't? Let it
be said. People say
what they want to hear themselves
saying, that's what I say.

The other day
on social media I saw someone share
something someone had said about something
someone had shared that her kid had said,
and I think that's great. That's the kind
of positive thing we need in these dim,
sometimes downright dark days. I thought
I'd share that with you. Puppy stories,

drunk people disgracing their lives
forever but in a funny way, hey.

Most of the contact we have with people
we'll never meet is like that. So what

Does it matter if you don't like me?
That's cool. That's your business, not

mine, feel free. And if you've got some

to say, say it so far
behind my face,

that I won't have to act compassionate,
which I am,
like I mind,
which I don't.

We all get what we want, eventually
in this life. Don't we? If not,

don't tell me! I do so far, and
I want it to keep being
a surprise. I'm okay

with everything I want, and
if I don't get it, it's been

wonderful to want it

the baloney-ketchup wonder bread sandwiches story

Total bullshit, man.
The promised meal should be provided.
at least. Please! DECENT

Did I tell you the story
with the baloney-ketchup wonder
bread sandwiches? SPOILER ALERT:
I just did.

The volunteer moving crew got dissed.
I told Jerome, "you owe us all sex,
man." Not really, but

maybe I should have.

People were looking to me
to say something, but

I was so hot
about the no pizza and crappy sandwiches,

I blanked!

True story.

Not my strong suit arguably

Saturday, March 17, 2018


So as much as I love
how well how we act
reflects upon us,
I much
rather want
to comport ourselves
like a couple of sluts,
disporting and sporting all over
the place in assorted ways,

for hours and days, in-between breaks

to catch our breaths,

nestle enfolded in wild embrace

Friday, March 16, 2018

paranoid insouciance

I probably won't know
when I die

it will be instantaneous
of the moment,
so sweet, the perfect crime
or, I guess, "op"

the perfect "op"

some kind of
insidious, hidden interest

within the government, making a partnership
of necessity with gang-criminals and intergalactic

space aliens to take me out

because of what I know, about:

the flicker pattern
of the street light
and the clicking sounds
the bus makes, and

strange coincidences of literally
every single random thing that happened

that day, coming together

in a message: How

could they think I wouldn't
Notice? How could they think I
wouldn't figure it out?

They couldn't.

They knew I would.

They allowed me to live,
because they figured

"Who'll believe him?"

They've discredited me, first
through remote monitoring
by controlling my thoughts, and

I thwarted their plans.

Because instead of freaking out,
calling legal aid, pestering
conspiracy messageboards,

complaining to strangers on the street, I've just

been like "Cool! Kinda inter-sting. I've been

controlled!" The last thing they expect!

It's actually fine, I know

who's doing it, more or less

(I know the kind of person, anyway)


and why? Who knows, but I don't care. It's just

kind of a novel sensation, far as I'm concerned. Are they
controlling me or am I just enjoying their illusion

of control?

Si, yes, oui, I expect
their patience will soon be run out. Meanwhile
here I am, thumbing their nose
or is it mine, and

that won't do. They don't tolerate

And insouciance is all I have.

So I probably won't know when I die,

at least my life has had this rather riveting
narrative lately,

to explain things!

Monday, March 12, 2018

pretend what's real

Thank you for the kind effort,
giving me

an alternative narrative to believe,

but I prefer to pretend what's real.
Or what people tell me is real. It's more
disappointing sometimes, like bleak
foreign films without a soundtrack, but

I find something satisfying
and lifelike about it.

Lifelike: a virtue we prize
in art more than life, arguably

But I can always point
to the time in my life -
one long montage of walks in the park
eating hot dogs and laughing,

shorthand for falling in love
with you

and say "it is unrealistic to live

expecting life to be this way,

or when it inarguably, empirically is,

expecting it to stay,"

Sexy poem time

Sexy poem time.
Hot feel it in your legs
like a heat between them. All bothered
in these moments, you bucking
and groaning with salt damp slick writhes
and a sudden vertigo like
the whole sexual position got lost
in space and time! Whoa there we are,

where were we?

An out of body experience, Oh fuck
I came. Oh my God I'm so sorry! I know,
I know you trusted me Damn though,
that was otherworldly

for a minute. Did your mind cross over? No,
oh. Well it was wild, sorry. Can I hold
you though? Sorry. it was only a SEX POEM Yo

Wednesday, March 07, 2018

"sense enough"

I want to come in
from the storm with you.

I want to help out
with those wet clothes,
smell the rain in your hair,

and kiss from your neck
to the rest of you bare,
as we take every care

to warm you and dry your skin,

and slowly
find out what
our wise blood knows.

"times two"

I get as much sleep as cats
- more than one - but I'd rather be dogs,
and have all that fun.

finer things

The smell of a wet rained-on world. I loved it
in my childhood, but I realize now - was it just
cause we were poor? I'm loving it still,
and I'm still not sure

"Fake Friends"

About your fake friends
it's funny, you know
a lot of them are other people's

real friends.

They're not fake people
They just don't get you
when you say some things, and
they don't know you
well, enough to ask

Or don't think they do.

they think you're ok, not great.
They know some people love you,
they try to be nice to your face
So you think "they're fake,"

Well, they're not the one
going through life
making friends, just to
call them fake later

When they don't measure up.
When they're not into you


You fucken fake-ass
fake your self

Let me tell you,
as a friend:

grow up.

Tuesday, March 06, 2018

Am I right to think "the man in a tie is about to lie to me some way?

I'm wearing a tie right now,
and you are right on the fucking money, chump.
I shouldn't tell you this,
but you asked. Necktie men
are the fucking advance guard, a pseudo-crypto-psychiatric
strike force of confidence artists
for the one percent.
You talk to one,

in making us nod and smile
and you walk away feeling great
like an accomplishment with your
fucking balls in a bouquet, and
the approximate dignity of a pet dog. All pleased

with your imagined glimpse behind the curtain, secure
that everything's under control of crisis actors
running their narrow earth conspiracy shadow play
for the lizard people, all because

the necktie man smiled saying 'Really?
Tell me more,' and you fell for it.

I love this job.

The fact you spotted the gag means
you could have potential to be one of us.
Get yourself a necktie. Practice putting it on
in the mirror, convincing yourself in low,
smoothed tones.

Smile and play around charmingly. Then go

out in the world, and see if you can engage
the chumps and keep them fooled - or pal around,
hobnobbing with other necktie men! Greatest feeling
in the world. Your efforts

will be observed for some time before
you are officially approached,
recruited and scheduled for furbishment. If you make it,
you will know it is me. My tie

is a deep red design,
covered in pink ballerina feet."

Monday, March 05, 2018

big chance

They call me big mister chance
and would you be miss fate?
I came all unprepared when I saw you
too late - not last night,

but the night before.
We exchanged destinies, now

I'm sure.

Sunday, March 04, 2018

unique problem

The problem is, these
malcontents - borderline
misanthropes, most of them -

(I don't say they haven't had
reason to be)

they hate the happy we're trying so hard
to fake. They think

that they're the only ones
about to break;

They think

their alienation's
special. And we
can't see. Like we

keep trying to feel unique?

- but they really do.
They hate it,

And it's getting so bad,
they're each going to have to do

something irrevocable
to prove it to you,

how fake your fake happy is,
and the world

oh God

if only they knew

"to Alice"

This place is amazing - and you,
little one, are making it better already.
Have fun, grow big and unruly
and listen to mom.
She can teach you to love
the adventure you're on.

dog is love

A dog will lie there letting you
stroke and pet and scratch her,
until you're finally through.
A dog will lie there letting you

Friday, March 02, 2018

sea señorita

I'd like to dive
into your sea bed with you,
and lose myself

in the nest, in the nets
of your sea curls, only
to find myself all the more,
of course - with a sea change
working between and upon us,
our sea legs entwined, I'd sink
and you'd pull me up,
and kiss salt air
into my aching lungs.

For once,
it would work
and I will come alive
in you.

And we'd see
what's next, washed
up on the beach
with these
incoming waves for our covers, some bed
we've made! Come, teach me
the way

to breach these seas

sea legs

She rises from the surf like a girl
which she is,

on her shakier legs than when she
went in,

and the world really reels
so much realer

for her having been
up under the surface, and breaking again
like a wave,
into air like a salt-spray crest,
she is cast up upon the wet verge of sand

snaking all down the beach, neither ocean
nor land - and she pulls herself up,

and looks all 'round in glee
on this glorious day,

and relearns how to stand.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

biggest believer

Listen, I'm
a big believer in whatever has to happen
to get us there. Just

tell me what it is, and I'll care

Just point me
in the general direction and set me
specifically loose, oh

but I know you wouldn't intrude.

Even if I would want you to. You see,
I should already know what to do

without you

Tuesday, February 27, 2018


We took me for a block of wood, and sanded me
down plain and flat,

And chose our ice-pick
tricky tools of varied size and point
and scoop,
to cut and gouge the negative
revealing what the roller inks,
and what is left thereof to lack.
And when this deep design is done,

I will be just what's left
at surface depth, to make

a mirror print

on paper of what everybody thinks:
a hit-and-run;

and that
will be the start
of that.

We'll roll with ink and press to page
and pull away and call it

number one.

Saturday, February 24, 2018

bells kaput

bells kaput
and ring and knell with
silences that swell
and fly to fill the air

you know so well,
what else that air could

and why

so let these bells
unring themselves
in silences

each time you strike,
with hammer hard,
they clear the air

for miles around
of any sound,

and you know why
you stay on guard
against alarm.

Unclang, unrung,
your heart in throat
at every strike,

you save from harm
all those whose wrong
cries out to skies.

And stand in light,
unjustified. And so
do they, for bells untold

like hearts unwrung,

have never lied.

moral clarity: its questionable use

It's an interesting question,
and therein
lies a story of sorts. So one day

I thought

"what if my sense of moral clarity
may not be useful to others?" I had

reason to think so,
At this point
I've decided to play it safe,
for some abstract sake. Who knows?
Down the line I may monetize and/or weaponize
the thing,

if the right vehicle comes along.

I've already got my thumb out,
to be honest, spit-slick and
testing the breeze but I hide it quick
while most vehicles are still pretty
far down the road. Pretty picky
about vehicles, but

you would be too if you
were eyeing them with half a mind
to exploit them for possible deployment and monetization
of a potentially-weaponized
moral sense.

Or: Would you?

The answer

may mean something,

But the point may be moot.
Because the farther I go with it, it turns
out it's like a too-edged sword - a little
too-edgy to cut straight if you're not careful,
and its maybe-moot point renders stabbing

a doubtful question!

It's heavy, too.

its unwieldy heft
and various questionably-sharp
requires not
so much skill
as panache. And

without either,

I've found it
can be as dangerous to the onlooker
as to the fool
who toys with it incessantly! So
unwieldy a weapon ought to be

unwielded, arguably. The responsibility
tends to weigh heavily over one's head -
and it's not the sort of sword-thing you want

dangling metaphorically over your head,
in an argument. It's too near
to hand.

In short,
sometimes you have to have the sense to know
the sense you have is no kind of sense
for someone else to be messing with,
not if they have any sense.

All of us
could say the same thing, of course,
but unless
I miss my guess
it wouldn't be in unison.

I hope that answers your question.
I didn't really understand it,
in terms of the options offered, so

I thought I'd answer it "my way." I failed

on a couple levels, but not all of them.
A bit like falling sideways downstairs

end ending up midair

talk tonight

We could talk tonight if you wanted to
I'm just in a place where I can't decide
what I have to say and what isn't mine

but it doesn't mean that I want to hide

We could talk tonight about anything
We don't have to talk, but there's nothing that I
don't trust myself to say to you,

or answer whatever you ask, no lie

Have you ever had nothing to say?
When all that you want
is to find the words
that there aren't?
When nothing that's real
could be this hard
to put into words.
You might as well stop

We can talk tonight, but we don't have to.
Because I don't have a thing that I know
how to say right, now. But maybe I will

if you wanted to, I believe I could.

I just don't know what to say to you

But that doesn't mean I'm not dying to,
No that doesn't mean I'm not dying to.

Have you ever had nothing to say?
When all that you want
is to find the words
that there aren't?
When nothing that's real
could be this hard
to put into words.

You might as well start

telling fairytales
and nursery rhymes
off the top of your head,
for the one you love.
Well maybe nonsense can make parables run
from someplace in your heart
that your head hasn't gone,
and fill it all up
with just enough, to go on?

Of course you don't have to go on.
Of course you don't have the words
to make it make sense, when
it doesn't make sense.

Maybe you just need to tell someone,
even though you've got nothing to say
- they have heard it before?

tell them anyway.

The truth hasn't worn out its welcome yet,
has it? The truth doesn't overstay

The truth doesn't need to be new,
if it's still the truth. So they've
heard it before. So have you.

Tell them one time more what it means to you,
and don't worry about how words make sense.

Trust yourself to say everything true
We can talk tonight, in confidence - even though
I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince

Me or you?

Have you ever had nothing to say?
When all that you want
is to find the words
that there aren't?
When nothing that's real
could be this hard
to put into words.

You might as well start

Friday, February 23, 2018


The author is playing a game with us
that he really is not very good at, yet.
It's clear that he must be intelligent

in some other language, I bet? But still,

the tricks and defects
he pulls
in irregular ways, as if
on purpose (and maybe
he does?), that he uses
for striking arrays
of effects and conclusions

and questions

do make
for quite an interesting

mistake. At least,

I hope it was.

Thursday, February 22, 2018


As revenues continue, fall -
or actually, were never there
at all - but expectations rise

for what I get
for all these eyes
for what I've done, such
hard and dedicated work
for nothing,

is no longer acceptable.
make a plea to you, donate? and say
I might be
putting up a paywall.
Putting up a paywall.
Putting up a paywall,
I know you don't want to see
paywalls going up all over
everywhere that once was free?
The thing to do is pay me,
voluntarily. That
could halt
this paywall trend in its tracks,
right here. At least if you
and others like you enough
to kick in. Like and share
Please. Be fair

Competition demands to be paid
It's not about hard work for nothing
just to be noticed and then
no jackpot. Thousands and hundreds
of thousands and millions, the entire
audience of content producers
thronging and clamoring and

networking hoping to be noticed,

recognized, and thanked
liked, viewed
(where it counts)
shared: promoted, supported! For free
by unpaid fans just because they
validate you
for what you're doing!
This proves

you are real.

The next step is to be paid.
Unacceptable, to have the whole world
coming round to see you work hard
for nothing, just to be noticed!

What they notice is you being exploited
by yourself for no benefit! You've become
notorious for it, and

It sends the wrong message,
not just about you but about
everyone else, doing the exact
same thing. A new model
would be exciting - which
is what we need, so
just be aware I might be
putting up a paywall,

if people keep coming around
expecting to notice
me doing hard work for nothing.
That's the last thing I want
them to notice.

And I won't be the only one!
Not all of us, but the best,
arguably, of us - the ones who refuse
the continuing model of scrambling
and thronging desperately to be noticed
at any cost, with no jackpot once we finally are
- which begs the outrageous question be asked
"Why were we doing it?" Don't be surprised,
to see the best of us,

who always gave you such great good for free,
go away.
Put up a paywall, and hide behind it. We swear
you will miss out
so much.
We'll be working twice as hard back there,
to be noticed behind that wall, and

you'll never know.
You don't want that

differences on average

I believe
there's a case to be made
not too unreasonable, that differences between people

are caused by animals.
For instance, a certain type of lizard.
I have observed women on average
while men obsessed with status, and I noticed
it became heated. Standing up to each other, but

there was a lizard nearby, the whole time
right by the wall. The lizard stopped suddenly
and skittered off. Coincidence? The argument
stopped as well! The exact same time

I started freaking out, trying to explain
about the lizard. What lizard? they wanted to know
It was gone, but

They didn't believe about the lizard,
and as soon as it was gone their
differences vanished

Making fun of my theories. But I believe

it's very important about the lizard

And possibly certain other animals.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

wish response

If only wishing made it so!

- as yours just did. So far as go has gone
as yet. Today, I mean. For me.

The world would be
an awful mess
from all the thoughtless wishes,
consequences unforeseen -

So maybe it should just be yours.

I'd trust to that, and gladly offer
any help you wish, to shape and hold
a course, and to explore

- as everybody would,
I guess.
With all your wishes
coming true. But I'd be eagerer than most,

to have, or live, or be your wish,
and call it blessed,
and find it bliss,
and feed your wishes, hopes
and dreams, and grow them

into everythings. As I will try

to do, today: according to
your wish for me. Which was
so sweet. Which always is.

All fantasy aside, sometimes
- telling wishes really can
bring them to life,
and make them so,

as self-fulfilling prophets know.

Perhaps I could be one of these?
I'd cover you with prophecies

and leave you option to fulfill,
accordance subject to your will.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

tips #2: the phone

I put people
at their fucking ease. That's
what I do. If somebody calls me,
I answer "HEY!
Are you at your ease? Well
you know? I expect people

to be at their fucking ease. I always am. Fuck them.

They can go stick their ease up their ears
or something. Calling me

all anxious and jittery and thing. Is that how to call me
up? Is that

going to help me put people at their ease? MEET ME
PEOPLE! I mean they can

if they want but it might cause a SHOCK
how sudden I put them at their
ease. It's up

to them how they want it.

who's ever spoken to me
on the phone especially
will attest
to the truth of how well
this method works.

They'll be like, "fuck. Yeah.
It's the best, I didn't even

that's what he was doing
at first, but it works.

I was at my ease."

Damn right. That's well-observed. My trick? First

I put myself
at other people's ease.

They don't fucking know
how to deal with that! It's like

a sneak attack without warning:

easy, if a bit

underhanded. But I say, fuck
they should have been at their ease!

They left it unattended, I just
slipped in there. Meanwhile, where is

my ease? Nobody knows! And you

sit here at your ease with me, dissecting

pleasantries! Nobody cares,
nobody gives a shit about my ease.

Not even me.

Meanwhile, my own ease

mysteriously wanders the forest, seeking

combat. Lost on the way to an ambush,

perhaps. One day, I will meet my ease

on the path, and I'll be like, "Hey!

I love katanas!" And that

will be

The End.

of that

Saturday, February 17, 2018

work gloves

My work gloves
are in a poem!

They make my hands invulnerable.
I think they're made
of leather.

Still a bright and cheery yellow
after all these years. I've left
them in the sun for months, so
kind of faded on the thumbs,

but otherwise, quite cheery bright.

Their name is Wells Lamont. I just
discovered that. A cowboy name,

don'tcha think? There is a black
and strappy thing along the wrist

to cinch and tighten it, and which
I've never used. They're pretty tight
- I have to slide and jam my hands
in pretty good, and whack between
fourchettes (the panels in-between
that make the finger-sides - the front
and back panel is the "trank"!), alternating
with stiff tugs on cuffs, until
the whole thing's snug,

then I make fists and punch
opposing palms, with satisfying
catcher's slap, and clutch and reclutch,
grip, run knuckles under fingers, wave and
wriggle them as independent as they can

all muffled in their stiff and glovey brace

and interlacing, slide and lock,
withdrawal and smack, push in
and pushing back,
until my leather second skin

is broken in enough. And finally,
they're worn. I'm wearing them. They are

a little tight! My hands feel like
two wooden blocks. I might could break

a board! I love these things. I use them
every time I'm ripping weeds and brambles

out by roots, or rooting in the dirt,
or tossing blocks and logs, whenever I
have cause to want my hands to feel

invulnerable. Which so far has been
twice. These gloves

deserve a better owner. You'll
concede they have it easy, though.

A cushy gig,

to lie in sun,
atop a pile of aging wood,
and getting faded on the thumbs.

Filling up with spiders, maybe. Wouldn't be
a bit surprised. What if I never

put them on again? These gloves
have earned some kind of prize. World's laziest

work gloves. They do not look
ashamed at all. Just lying cheery
in the sun, all ready

and responsible.

Friday, February 16, 2018

The wonderful beyond words

The wonderful beyond words
is what and where I'm always
trying to get.

With words!
Which may seem

dumb, or self-defeating, but I find

one often can - by dint of reach
and grasp - pull such strange wonderful

from nothingness
and into form,
by processes mysterious,

with nothing lost by trying it.
With no diminishment
of all the wonderful that lies
beyond - for us to catch and steal

our handsfuls of, and gorge
our gorgeous selves

taking danger

I fear I may have taken you
into danger, with me

needlessly, and now
we're here, where we are, how
we feel - with no way out. Except

perhaps, some action-movie set-piece
jammed with special effects and explosions,

which - that would be okay! No one
ever gets hurt in those. Not
really, though.


make my day?

Be the same

Be the change
you want to see. But also,
see the ways you want
to keep, and stay the same
you always meant and wanted, and

wished you'd be. And if

you never were - then change.
And say the same

you mean to do. Don't be
the change that loses


Wednesday, February 14, 2018

hey, jealousy

For the first time, I know what jealousy means.
You are the one I thank for that. You made me
look it up in the dictionary. And now, I am

I lost the bet.

There are two separate senses of jealousy
that are relevant to love relationships

(and a third that applies to losers
of bets, or others regarding
accomplishment, and feeling
that stinky sting! To be
jealous of it)

The secondmost sense
is the troublesome
one. Where jealousy is distrust
of the other's
faithfulness. Which sucks,
and which

is entirely bad.

It grows out of and is a distortion
of what, to me, is the primary

A sense of a right awarded to one,
an exclusive right, and deserved in full
only because it is given in full,
and accepted in full. To be conscious and vigilant
of such gift, and even possessive - to take ownership
of one's rights and one's duties in it,
to feel solicitous, eager to honor
and to discharge them,

fully and well,

to feel a guardianship

and protectiveness,

is to be jealous.

A feeling quite sweet
and innocent! I'm surprised
to admit, and feel myself.

The trouble, I think, is where people forget
that wherever such rights

are awarded by someone else,
in a freely-given gift of one's own, owned self
(which is yours to give! If it isn't, you'd better
correctly guess that you don't own it, if it isn't yours
to give. Whose is it?), such rights
remain at their pleasure, and are

in their continued gift.

It ill behooves the recipient
to sue for a breach of trust, in this.

It better behooves one to gratitude
every day, for a gift given every
day to you.

To accuse mistrust is to presume
to rights that nobody has, and jealously
force and insist on them, like a
fucking clown.

I'm jealous of love you give to me.
My jealousy never could bring me down,
or lay you low, or lower you
in my sight, or make me doubt
or damage or break my trust,
which you placed in me.

I jealousy love and keep

the way that you make me feel,
and I jealousy guard myself
in my acts and ways, to ever more fully

and truly possess

what you freely and fully and truly want me
to have, and cherish, and keep:
your regard for me.
Your love,
for me.
Your self,
for me to have,
and love as my own,
I jealously love
doing honor to all of this gift

of you,

which is yours to give,
which you give every day
as if every day were one,

and as if I'm the one you choose
to live in it with.

So you do. I'm jealous with it!

- madly with joy, I live in your gift,
jealousy guarding such rare privilege,

and wondering how I ever deserved?
And gladly I set myself to the task:
to earn your gift, to try every day
in the full exercise of my duties
and rights, and responsible

only to you, for the use I have made
of all that you've given me to. As I please,
that is how you have given to me.

And ready to give my account in full,
so ready to answer for anything you

find questionable, or troublesome, I

am jealously, gratefully, humbly

of being the one who gets to stand
and give full account. Who gets to strive
finding everyway how to live up to this:

your free, unassuming and perfect gift.

You bet! I am very jealous of it.

A jealousy sweet and innocent,
like you've given me stake
in the infinite,

and all that I want
is to prove your right -
which you've given me
- and to prove you're right,

in winning it.

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Science has magic in

Science has magic in it! It's the love
of the actual world you can actually
prove to yourself AND others by theories
and laws, and after that


You have proofs. The evidence keeps

leaping out of the angles and
off the surfaces of the universe
in predicted trajectories and coming

in droves, sweeping you away


the falls,

where peer review and experiments
cast thronging doubt on your evidence and fail
your results or support

your conclusions,
in air -

No, there

no magic
in science.


is a delusion,

I do confess, I swear
I do believe it, equally
serenely regardless and irregardless,
despite or because of paradox implied or explicit,
inferred or imputed. Now,

for my next trick

- are you watching closely?

Let's go refute it!

We can, you know.

There's no limit
to where science takes us, except
the limits reality actually has -

which we will descry
and define, defy and illumine as we go

- and they

will not limit us, to powerfully grasp

all there is to know,

which is all we will ask.

one's character

I want to say horrible things, sometimes
- but never to you, if you don't mind.
I need you to love who you think I am
your favorite person on Earth,

And other times mine! Deservedly so.
Honestly, that guy can be so damn sweet!
We can laugh as I tell you the horrible things
I wanted to say to others who cross my path,
and I know that you'd well believe
that I let them pass.

Why wouldn't I, though?
I'm proud to be what you think of me,
every chance I get,

As I'm sure you know.


I've written a romance book, and you
are the antagonist. Don't worry! I like
when the bad guy wins, or in your case,
girl. The protagonist is

this amazing and mythic Mary Sue
type - you'll never believe he lives up
to the narrative hype, but so help me,

he might! Only thus

to fall
for a cunning and devious twist,

at the end of it all.

the bespoke suit

I have put off today
for so many years, tomorrow
holds decades of overflow
of things that I know
I could easily do,
and still could easily hold
much more.
At some point
I might have to let it go,

like all of the clothes you've kept
too long, against the occasions
they once were perfect for,

and concentrate on what I actually
want to do, and get done. Eventually,
though, I might have to admit -

I'm reasonably sure there isn't enough
of that,
to fit the shape of the life
that hangs ahead. Perhaps

I'll gain weight, or smoke
some more,
or drink myself in

to oblivion.
I'd probably fit then,

but I can't be sure.

I hope I look good
by the time people care
I'm dead, or maybe

a little before.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

chasing the tail

Sometimes I feel like the tail end of a thought
got lost, and the rest of it worked itself out,
completely resolved and gone for good, before

I could notice or figure out what it was. But

something to do with you, I think. It usually is,

these days. Too bad I can't call you up

and ask you for hints. I far too much love
your mysterious ways.

The friend who used to be so close

The friend who used to be so close
can't take a hint. You used to talk
for hours, always loving it

But you're in different orbits, now.
Ok, you used to be, as well - but that
was easy to defeat by reaching out,

and so you did! The both of you,
so grateful for this voice and view
from nowhere, such a sudden fit.

You needed it. And it went on
and on - a rock. Dependable. A feature
of your life, somehow. You wondered how
you'd done without, and didn't want
to think about it all.

It just made life seem possible
in all these ways it
never was,

just running through
each other's lives and bouncing
back effect and cause. Saying things
too true,
so great to catch between
and dote for days, congratulate
yourselves upon.
Then let pass by awhile -
as if too cool, but throw it out again
some months gone by and still amaze,
the reference caught and tossed
anew, a play with ever-changing rules,
a game with never-changing roles - a secret


whose secrets everyone should know,
They're really missing out. So obvious

but just for us, somehow.

nothing ever


to explain the loss
At some point someone felt a twinge
of bad, not reaching out enough

At some point someone felt not in the mood
to bound and pounce through wondertown,
and making life seem possible in all these ways
it never was.

At some point friendship turns into a thing
for feeling bad about. Bad for luring in
another one, for feeling stupidly impressed
how good you make each other feel you couldn't
do without, or ever tire of this.

You didn't. It just stopped being
what it is.

It was your
escape. For both
of you. But life has ways
of sucking life from our escapes

We realize that we're still trapped inside
a life made bearable by all the ways
that someone makes the possible
seem real, in perfect sudden fits

that never really change how we
fit into it. Because we don't.

That's just the deal. But

it used to be so nice to make
each other think we did.

It wasn't always a mistake. But now

The friend who used to be so close

still reaches out
a time or two, by months
and years, as if
to try to start the play again,
where it left off. As if the game
were not called off, just waiting for
another turn.

You both
know very well

that nothing happened,
nothing changed.

But it's as if they think
that that's ok.

In lives with really, nothing more or less
to bounce around between

two strangers growing strange.