demiurge

our skin is one surface
slick with one sweat
sharing breath and
one mind,

soaking in yes
there is only one creature,
here: and we

are its creators

The Two Readers

Absorbed in a chapter
passed back and forth, laughter
and reading in plummy tones,
like narrators,

We advance the tale
trading turns, stealing
glances at whoever is
up, it is not a game

it is serious. This is some
kind of story we've got

between us

someone else's weather

I love your rain,
your sun your fall
your snow, your

whatever the hell it is
that's going on. Where you are
I love your

there. I can just about imagine
Under abstract skies

of blue, gray,

green? Hey - what if your weather

is orange? Lustrous gold,
cerise, blue red
blue,

cornflower? What if the weather
by you, where you are, is

a riotous profusion
of colours never found or seen
in nature? At least, not in those

configurations: the rain
rains down purple and soft, glowing
grey! The clouds deep, bold hues
of green shading in
to everything seen

in peacock feathers? The snow,
maybe no. Maybe no snow, but just imagine
the hues, if so.
But no.

The problem with someone else's weather
is, you can picture it, but you'll never
see it.

Ever

Initialize

I don't feel like carving a living tree
is something I'd do to show love. A living rock, sure!
Which would take so much more

It's not that I'm morally opposed to such things. Or if I am,
it's not that I can make that case. It's more

a case of a gesture not occurring to me

except - well, when explained, or pointed out,
it occurs to me. But a thing to appreciate, not
to do. It doesn't occur to me. The most outlandish things

can seem perfectly natural, once you notice
everyone's done them. And you just do them, unthinkingly,
but for some reason I never do. Other people
do, naturally. They seem to have. It
makes sense to me, once pointed out.

For whatever romantic reason, sometimes
you realize you've got a bit of a blind spot
when it comes to traditions, observances
generally known, held, performed - it's not

that you're not romantic. Or I'm
not. I've seen
such tokens carved
into bark and been quite touched,
it is something to see, just

not a natural gesture for me, to take a knife -

Sweet as they are, those carved hearts,

- if it did cross my mind, and I had a knife,
what would I do with all the world
poised on the edge of that blade, in the twist of your name
and mine, with an arithmetic so simple it could only
appear in one shape?

What would it take, to sacrifice

carve you and I into life

for all to see,

in some poor tree

looks left unsaid

remember that look you gave to me?
I want to give it back

that look
that time

for forty minutes straight
at the coffee shop? The look
like you weren't hungry, and
you'd eaten me alive

and maybe that was why

less than 3

don't tell me

just help me, see

I've never been, I've never been
one two three, set in steps of stone
I've never been,
one to be

leaving, believing

it's true
I've never been one to be
leaving, and

I still believe I still
believe
in you.

And I

know

all I need is one

for you to care what I need, two: you

to think you could be good

for me, not for me
but for you, and

three

to believe

in what we can do

remonstrance

Yes, you remember correctly! Or if you do not,
we share the same invented memory,

and

I wish I hadn't thought of that.

How much
of our experience has been recovered between us?

from things that never happened, but that sounded
so true

that they had to be believed? And cherished,
and treasured -

The details
so sharp, shared
received, instantly
believed

Yes! I remember
it so well, it was like

yesterday,

this.

As one talked, the other listened,
and the story wove in close.
the two of us gathered in suspense, exploring whatever
to remember next

amnesiac ghosts, conjuring lives
worth this haunting

too close and yet too far

if you ever want to touch,
you have to move past too close.
touching's so much farther in
than too close ever gets to go

too close for comfort
or to call
will keep you at arm's length,
that's all.

if that's as close as you can get?

you'll have to keep your distance, pet.

but

if you never want to touch, it's easy
or, easy enough.

caper flick

you like a magician, like
a museum thief, stealing in and everything
my life has been.

implicit in complicity,
treating it all just as if -

these halls hung thick with counterfeits
and forgeries, masterfully done
just as masterfully
gone

leaving blanks on the walls
for none to see
in the shapes of paintings

and in the morning, I was left
to sound the alarm. But who would come?
I called

you. Asking why, how

You showed up, insouciant
as usual,
I let you in

Your eyes innocent as thieves,
cast about disinterestedly
as if to say "You must never
question me on this, you know"

The next day,

everything stolen
was replaced with an original.

And between us, we seem

to have agreed

to let it go

the end of you

I don't want to be
the end of you
the wreck of you
the rocks upon which
you are crashed, and sundered,
spoiled, and bled. I did not cast my nets
to tangle your fins and gills, you
sea-monster, you
creature of depths
and reach,

I'd as soon have said - Lord! I wish
that I'd stayed on the beach,
or had not looked down - that I'd missed my chance
to glimpse what I can't comprehend, what I now
love best

- that you'd only passed under,
undreamt, unguessed,

So that I could just once more catch
my breath

I cannot
see the end of you even yet

and I never want to. I cannot
forget,

I never wanted to
be the end of you

yes purpose

we were made to suffer pain

the sweetness as the pleasure fades

into the ache of absent joy

malevolent design

oh boy!

sharpest knives

It is for ourselves
that we save our sharpest knives,
it is for ourselves that we sharpen them.
We've got to please stop, someone stop us - no.

Nobody can.

Most of the time, nobody can
even see what we've done. Most of the time,
they're doing it to themselves, as bad
or worse, so keen - you would think it's fun

It isn't fun.

Take an open letter to everyone
with sharpest knives for their poor self.
Their own poor me.

You've got to stop.

I've got to stop

your killing me.
The world is not
the one who has
to
see.

serial connoisseur

I collect one bottle of wine at a time.
I appreciate one
bottle of wine
at a time.

I drink one bottle of wine at a time.

And it's fine,
fine. fine

Subjectivity crisis

"The force of your voice of authority's
starting to wear on me mightily,
dear," She said, and quite rightly,
too. Perhaps. I should probably not speak

so forcefully, especially when
it's so clear
it's true. Forgive me, acushla

for the lapse.

worth the lasting

Cherish your love. Not just you - I mean
everybody: Be as true
as you can, for yourself
and to others,
and for God's sake
if you can find someone good
in this world,
to love and to be true to - don't
miss the chance, and don't throw it away
lightly. This world

is going to tear every one of us apart.

Many things can make us strong enough
to last

through it, at least for a while. But
only one thing

can make the lasting worth it.
At least for a while,

it's your chance:
for everything to be worth
however long it lasts.

upside ground

The worst part about life is -
how soon
we are all going to die.
Don't fret -
it will be not very soon,

you will

have plenty of time
to cry.

Nude worms

on animal nudity -
I think it's safe to say "albeit,
there are

some troubling social issues
being raised." To wit, are nude animals

being exploited for unnatural purposes? And
what can be done about it? As a pioneer
taking the lead on this issue if I may, as I do

I'd suggest we start with an examination of the less-furry
ones. The fur situation

makes the nudity of furred animals considerably less urgent

a question. Second:
who are these perverts, precisely
exploiting animal nudity? Can we be sure it is
for unnatural purposes? And how do they do it
precisely? Does it matter?

I think we can say: answer with some confidence, provided
the answers are kept in confidence. For public consumption,
though, I will say: A lot depends
on the animal. And it does.

I suggest our most prudent step, then
leave it alone. Just moonwalk out of there. Nobody
wants

to open up this particular can of worms. Nude worms

HINT HINT

I'm not much good
at catching hints, myself. But I say, try this:
get yourself a grey t-shirt
with the words "HINT HINT" on it
in mint green 100-pt font (all caps).

Slip that on, whenever I've been
oblivious, and

(I swear)
whatever the hint may have been,

I'll ask

on the inside line

I attack on the inside line. If I am
countered, it is because

my opponent
has demonstrated presence
of mind:

present, embodied in a unity
of thought and form,
mindful of purpose,
but unmindful
of intent - a body,
a motion unwilled,
catch and redirect,
undirected,
explosive and instantaneous
proceeding from stillness.

and I am blocked. When I am blocked,
I do not react in the moment,
but in the moment before

In this way, I may have already won the fight.

A fight is an earnest conversation
between two whose love for each other
is marred only by their imperfection
in being able to perfectly express it,
we are perfect in mind but unable
to perfectly connect every time - meaning
turned aside, rolled away from, dodged,
ducked - persistence
is the key

to making one's meaning connect.
persistence, and the willingness to accept
that one's own circle
may ultimately be the one
that collapses

gather

Woman, I just want to
gather you up in my arms.

You're so
fun

in me-specific ways, Or
no wait, I guess

that I shouldn't say
"I just want to,"

because honestly, I also want
you

to gather me up in your legs.

*dramatic sigh*

dramatic sigh, o tragic flaw
- such things to love,
and miss them all. the eyes
have seen, the mind has known,
the heart has held. the bird
has flown

- an empty cage, but beautiful.
in case of love, you must let go.
You must set free,
you must let fly
- to prove it's true.

dramatic sigh

lightning love

So bright, so white, so right
so strong - then the thunder comes
this lightning love just means a storm
- and it's coming on
Can't break for cover,
can't make home
- we know well enough
where this lightning love
is coming from

I love the earth after the rain
I want to dance it back again
take all the world and wash it clean
It just takes you (and me, I mean)

I love those dark and looming skies
I see them gather in your eyes,
I know just what will bring them clear
It just takes you, and me, and here

So bright, so white, so right
so strong - then the thunder comes
this lightning love just means a storm
- and it's coming on
Can't break for cover,
can't make home
- we know well enough
where this lightning love
is coming from

the wunderkind

I am outside. In the garden, I am
on top of my game, thinking
with an ice cold beer and equal amounts
of sun, air, and shade. I am made
out of fun and numbers; My brain
is math that can't add or subtract, except once
extrapolated in to an infinite distance,
on formulae worked out in sweat
and by inches,
then
suddenly
all less than / greater than signs
halve,

and snap shut to equals:

two hovering bars,
one above the other

- wait.
I just realized: is that symbol an "equals"

because the top bar
and the bottom bar

are both equal? Each equal? The same length? DUMB

Signs

at that level
should be wholly abstract, meaningless, or
meaning only just what
we say, because
we say so. Because we
say they do. Whereas I

as a matter of fact,

am through
with math.

At least for this afternoon.
It's unaesthetic

sublimation maybe

there are certain numbers of fantasies
I am not prepared to divulge to you
and none of them are even sexual
believe that, babe?
I believe it, too

the one where I am in a band
and playing some disgusting joint
where you show up, with all your friends
and you don't recognize me, no
until that point -

I play that song
you said you loved
"this is beautiful"
"this is a song you make love to"
then
your eyes get wide,
and lips get full,

Or

my pants keep fucking falling off!
right up on stage!
the effort costs
me some dignity,
to haul things up.

It's a legal concern - the show's "all age"!
and the show was free

There's a certain number of fantasies
that I'm not prepared to divulge to you
and none of them are really sexual
well okay maybe, one
or two

Love is a declaration of war

Change coming round, when soon turns now
Light coming down, but dark down here
When I close my eyes I can see you clear
I can see all we need to win, so near

Decision is all that we need to make
And I have made more than enough to share
but it's going to take you to dip in, too
Do you want what this is? What I see? I swear,
one promise from you will take us there

You will never get lost on the way to me
If you know where you want to be, come fast
if I know that you're on your way, I am free
It isn't a test to grade or pass
It isn't a game to win or score
It isn't a show or a fantasy:
Love is a declaration of war,
against all opposed

to you and me.

In Charge of Naming Battleships

if I were in charge of naming battleships
and other such contrivances
I'd give them names not like The Constitution
or The Independence

I'd give them names like
The Diversion, or
the

The Extravaganza.

This is not because I believe that warfare today
is some sham, some shame, some bread and circus
con, some ratings game, no. It is because I believe

the battleship has little to no place
in modern naval warfare.

Never give up on you

So
How long's it
been anyway? I know
last time we talked, it had
been awhile. And I told you
then, or I meant to - there

was no way I was going to
let you go. Unless you went.

Even then, you'd know
that I'd let you go,
but I'd never
give up.

You have meant so much

to me, that I can't.

You would always be able
to just reach out,

and I'd be there. Not waiting,
not mad, just happy to hear
your voice - no slant,
no suspect intent,
no petulant pout.

No misgivings to take,
no mistakings to give,

just an outgoing greeting,
with a cheery tone.

And if you leave a message,
I would call back so quick

you would think I was sitting here,
all alone.

Which I wasn't, of course! It was just
when you called, I got nervous and flushed,
and worried as well. Is there some
kind of crisis, some life at stake?

It takes me a minute to know
what to say, in case all

is well.

brotherly love

I was hanging out
with my brother, walking
the beach and plumbing
deep depths of things,
chain-smoking
after a good number of gins
with bitter lemon. As always,
he talked about some girl
and I gave him all my unused advice
to do with you.

It was futile, but nice. Later
we did what we always
do.

Far as fantasies

As far as fantasies go, all fantasies are
shadows of some real thing.
And you
have a million lit candles -
tiny bright stars,
peeking through some rough cloth.

By the curtain of imagination's night
you stand revealed
in a million lights,
your shadow split by a million stars
as you dance in the glow
of what you are

'til you cast it off.

once more breached

I love the broken plod
and teeth-clench
grueling step by step way
this makes sense.

Life
is for someone else
to ask questions about. To me,
it's as obvious as everything
I've always been so oblivious to,
and just as important to act as if
you were quite aware about things

like this. Which is not
so much. Oh, it sometimes
is! Or we'll think it
was.
Suddenly,
some blunt, hard point
breaks in, tearing fabric and pushed
into widening cracks, into part
of your mind, and

it realizes.

Or something does

wingspan

wandering seabird,
holding in place
over seas and seas
carried up and away
over seas and seas,
straying far inland
the horizons recede
and retreat for days

as she lays her advance
upon sleeping wing,
barely motionless
while the twilights pass
and the stars change guard
over seas and seas
see her wandering far
as if instinct leads
over rippled glass,
blown in coloured sun

I have not begun,
though I felt the call
like a dot, a speck
craning neck, squint eye
with a hand to shade,
I can see you fly
on your pilgrimage -
as I scan the sky,
you will never fall.

and sometimes I wish
I could ride those rills
in the piercing air,
let my eye take fill
of unrolling lands
and devour the world
with wing and care

other times, though, I think
I would rather keep place
set for you to come in,
once you've lapped the race,
and slake your thirst
and renew your strength,
rest your head and dream
of inconsequence.

And if I were a place
where your instinct led,
that your homing called home,
over seas and seas
I would wait on wings
with your empty place set
calm and ready for you,
and for everything.

you can only stay up
so long, godspeed
you will come to berth,
after trackless trek -
stretch your arms so wide,
little albatross,
and wrap your wingspan
around my neck

confusing note from a friend

If I had you to confuse,
to remember from life
instead of what's left
after all the almost,
I would say:

What you miss most about me
is how we'd walk through uncut fields on paths
that would part always to let us pass, then close
behind us to leave no trace,
in the long and the sharp and the flowing grass,

and our legs would bear welts, all the ways
to the beach,
where we'd salve them
with sun-baking sand and spray.

And for days

uncounted, more or less
like these,
we would build up from life blessed memories.

Until one day,
that's all.

We would have no more.

You'd be left with a note

and a glass
to pour.

"body to break"

using my body to break your fall, using
my body to break your fall, using my
body to break your fall

oh gladly, I
would give my all,
if I could just get underfoot
of you

just in time, to save you the trip
and truly you'd see me
with shining eyes,

in gratitude,
oh gladly, I

would be using my body to break your fall, using
my body to break your fall, using my
body to break your fall

oh let yourself go -
I will take it all,

if you're using my body to break your fall, using
my body to break your fall, if anything
slips, I will catch it all - if anything
breaks, I will fix it all

oh, gladly I
would leap to assist,
I would lead you astray
just to show you this,
I would misplace your ride
just to pick you up,
and race all the way
through a breach of trust,
we'd be

using my body to break your fall, using
my body to break your fall, using my
body to break your fall
oh let yourself go - have you let yourself
go?
You can let yourself go,

I will take it all

viscous cycles

I slept all day.

And then I made it out,
and then I made it home
through the rain,
pedaled hard, through sorghum molasses, and
I made it in. And I fell
asleep

in my arms,
in my legs, and my
everywhere

at once

but my brain. And I've been here,
since

thinking long, not hard,
lying still, and awake

to all that I've missed,
and to every decision

I marred, or made. Or failed
to begin.

To have made them all,
well I realize now

- but it didn't occur,
then
I just never thought -

and I'm lying, still.

And I think I'm caught.

There's a box

that is issued at every birth,
to every one, and only so much life
can be fit in. I did
what I could, to sneak
more than one share

Too busy to notice decisions
I missed -
I made without making,

without a care -

I am brought to this. All my fault, it seems.
Well,

As long as I'm here,
eventually,

I will have my dreams.

I am lying still.

ode to tonia - a lament

oh tonia, when you left me
tonia p., tonia p.
my followers dropped down
from twenty to nineteen

with flutes

You so lovely. You're also
a unique pillar in my reality.

Not the kind of pillar
that holds up a massive weight
of marble. The kind of pillar

that stands out in the open,
and holds up the sky

greater than whole

You are very much not
"a piece." You are more
like - at the very least -
the entire puzzle.

And a very well put-together puzzle
at that! Not assembled by me,
as a matter of fact. Perhaps

you just came from the box that way
- just a few pieces loose, from the ship
and the slide
of the trip
from the fun and games
factory.

Or maybe
you assembled yourself
in the dark, on the way - just to see

what the picture would be.

"How to alone is Easy, beautiful"

How do you alone? It's easy!
You don't think so but look. Around you
The alone life
can be beautiful with no one. Surprise!
Sometime you other people. We all do
Other times, yes. It can lonely you
when you say "hi" No one is around.
Do what you want!
Alone, no one is telling you.
You will never run out of drinks. You are the only one
drinking them. Drink them all! Eat
everything you want in the bath
- even naked! Who will see?
You're hiding! Alone
is a fun game
to play

who is winning

in the scheme of things

I fit in
like the massive, irregular block
of concrete with the old iron pole
jutting up from it, who knows

what it was for
or going to be for, it is off

to one side, in the unmown grass
and dandelions, away
from the gathering when it was
noticed.

As the cookout progresses, people drift over
there, to talk with each other, sat
on the bare concrete, taking their shoes off,
letting their toes swim in the weeds
and wildflowers. At one point

somebody looks at the old hollow iron pole
gestures to it

asks "What was this?

Was it going to be part
of a building or something
?"

But
you always see those poles
cut in half, or rusted, jutting out
of big concrete blocks of an irregular,
congealed-oatmeal shape and nobody
seems to have a ready-made explanation
for them.

as to what they were. Or were going to be,

So yes. That is my place. mysterious,
a bit off to the side, somewhat useful
as a conversation piece, perhaps
Seemingly desolate

and abandoned, yet somehow,
homey.
Welcoming, nonjudgmental.

Anyone who has wished can sit on my verge
and gesture wonderingly at my pole! Metaphorically,
I mean.

Yet ultimately:
what was I? Was I part of a building, or
something?

Was I going to be?

dream recovery by way of magpie attack

you are sweeter than anything smells or tastes
and you look like a dream
I have once every night, but forget
when I wake,

Until some glimpse of you
brings it back, with a sense
of deja vu

As you hit
me, full-force like the feathered touch
of a wing from a bird
who has struck my skull

- on the stars that I see, I make showersful
of wishes,
concussed
from a mind made whole

Today's message:

The numerical correspondences have always been there
and they don't signify whatsoever. It's just
a case of once you begin noticing
coincidences with a keener than usual interest,
they start popping up constantly, no
Nobody's out to get you, no one
has encoded messages or threats
into the fabric of the universe,
destiny is NOT slowly weaving its sensor-web
around to get you dancing
in the best of all destined directions, sadly
no.

Numbers are just
fucking idiot blocks
whose nature it is to combine
in ways that can be made to correspond,
especially if you start arithmetically manipulating
them! CALM DOWN, GROW UP and don't
worry about it.

There are no angels working for the NSA
arguing on your behalf that you should be
"brought in"
to the team, there is not
a flotilla of alien business-ships hiding
in the Van Allen belt waiting way longer than they thought,
grousing "WHY
doesn't he or she seem to be getting the MESSAGE?" NO. GROW
UP. Stand down

Calm down, and await

tomorrow's message.

suddenly, I realized

it wasn't that we broke up for no reason

after all that time, so much as that we
had been together for no reason

for all that time.

downcast

perspective, proportion are easy to keep
introducing to situations
that don't need them.

Keep stepping back, considering all
- you will lose your chance
to lose yourself
in anything worth the fall,
with your eyes on the ground
as you watch your step.

off the top of your head,
don't you ever get?

A sense of things
coming together, but only
if both have enough of a sense
of abandon

A sense of wide skies
through which two specks
plummet
in different directions,
at random
- meeting -
and they are the only thing
in this whole wide world
of evening

one of them easily
could have been you,
as the other streaks off
downcast

into deepening blue

doomsday scenario, like we need another one

These remarks

approach the theoretical limit of obtuseness. It's like
you squeezed

all the awareness and progress made

over the past 30 years into a single, mathematical
point of infinite density. This is blockheadedness
on a cosmic, spacetime reality-puncturing scale.

The real danger exists

that if the antisense singularity you've formed in your head
remains stable,

everything will be sucked into it.

proofs withheld

I hope we never fight, but I expect we will:
You don't think you're beautiful.
I'll restrict myself to cool,
detached observation
and impartial facts. Have
you ever seen your eyes? Probably,
I'd have to guess. Mirror
in the morning, grimacing
through toothpaste foam

and scrutinizing
for such flaws as can be
dealt with out-of-hand
at home, in morning ritual,
before the rush of day
comes on. If I could be there,
taking notes I'm sure I'd point out
all the ways you lean and dart
and fuss, and you'd concede,

"oh yes. I am
adorable, aren't I? Objectively
speaking."

I'd be forced to agree, but
you'd probably protest: "But not beautiful,
though." Infuriatingly enough, if
anyone else said it! Fighting words,
but ok. You have every right,

Even standing ready to face the world,
marvelously sheveled, a credit to any street
you stroll! And beautiful as all. Still

You don't think you're beautiful.
You have every right to be wrong.

I'll do my best to shut up. It would be
a pretty dumb thing to fight about. Just

know this:
I have proof.

the workshop

Time renders sense into memory, and
destroys the evidence
for us, so that we
in our turn, can open up

loveliest nostalgia
unhindered by contradiction,
irritations sifted through,
forgotten, fallen away to sawdust, the sieve
retains what is beautiful

to build worlds within it
which we can never inhabit, but

flatter ourselves
that we could have, once.

As pastimes go, it's harmless enough
and understandable. There is a need,
as all around us, in life we see

little enough evidence
of what kind of present this now will be,

after memory takes its chance to work
using all of its skills and tricks,
and turning it into a gift:

Always and only yours,

belatedly

The minotaur is winning

The maze has changed
in groans and growls
its corridors wind up
and out
in spaces that
were never there
before
the walls closed in

the air
is hot and dense
and dry like death, and still
as too-long bated breath, until
in pain, you draw it back
into your lungs

all fade to black

course of study

how perfect for you,
photography

teaching you chemicals
, you - the acolyte, shut in
darkness, finding the lost alchemist arts,
the development of an image, captured
- literally, stealing the soul
of whatever your f-stop's darting eye
winked at, as the light bounced off with it

images
inform the mind, by feeding on souls
cloned and grown from light

That's sci-fi mephistopheles stuff right there
photography?

or rather, it used to be. It is,
of course
maybe all digital, now.
That might even be apropos

Study is, after all, supposed
to prepare you for life,

not nostalgia.
Unless one studies
deliberately to be

a historian, an archivist, haunting
hallways of evidence, an anthropologist
amongst other things:
studying primitive attitudes
that others can only

pretend to live

the big deal

I want to make a big deal
of my feelings for you. They are
so cool! I enjoy them very
much. My feelings for you are
like, love, fondness, admiration,
affection, amusement, curiosity,
devotion, wonder, wistfulness, occasionally
regret, or maybe nostalgia rather, or
heart-lifting sorrow. Also a sense
that maybe my feelings for you
are a bit dramatically overdone, but
that it's okay, it's nothing chosen
or deliberate, really, just something
to appreciate, maybe chuckle at a
bit, a thing to give in to, feel from time
to time to time, one's own ridiculous
-ness, it is no big deal.

Past Julie

Past you loves you
and wants you to be happy. She
may not understand everything you do, or
everything you're into, but she knows
that you've seen things she hasn't,
and that in your place, she'd
probably
do the same thing.

She doesn't want to restrict
and imprison you, any more

than you want to restrict
and imprison your future
self.

"Set free your future self, Julie!"

That's what she'd say to you
if she had the chance.

Ok, yeah

she also thinks you're a bit of a dork

but weren't we all such smug little
shits in those days?

missing wish

I wish you deepening roots to draw lengthening strength,
nights of soft rain in plenitude,

with clouds chased by dawn,
and nourishing rays all day for as many days
as it takes for you to feel whole,

and healed,
and created anew.

The people demand

Things aren't like we want them to be.
The people we pay aren't doing their
jobs, and our discontent is about to
click. They should long since have fixed
what we're mad about. It isn't our job
to think of how. It isn't our job to
know the facts, to connect them up
and in consequence, be able to guess
which plan is best.

Our job is to live
our lives as such,
in a reasonable state
without too much fuss.
To wake and to work
and to muddle through,
without all this hassle and hullabaloo.
It's not what we do, to mess with plans.
It's out of our hands, by design and choice.
We pay all those people
to be our voice! To act on behalf
and leave us be! They're supposed to think,
and decide and guess!

Can't they even do that? It's disgusting

We

have been forced to this.
To take action, stand and demand outrage,
and to call for change

from the people we pay. They had better
come through. We want it now,
like we always do.

remain absent

For a moment just then, I inhabited the world again.
I think it was the wind. Standing out on
the mediocre hill by the spillway, I came to myself.

I have always been stuck in the Now. Never more present
than absent. But without notice, I seemed to have passed
out of it. I stood there, noticing.

There didn't seem to be any choice.

I will stub out my smoke, and go back in. I have
missed the wind

sempiternal and empyrean

Her nature elevates us all
on rising columns pedestal
in offering to lightning strikes
We gladly take the sacrifice

She comes from realms above beyond
and lingers here to point the way
we pile fragrant, oiled woods
and queue devoutly, day by day

awaiting our ecstatic turn
to join in an unchanging blaze
that burns our sacred faults to ash
as she stands back, intrigued, amazed

Here's what I'm not going to do

Here's what I'm not going to do:

take any of it back,

change how I feel,

apologize for how sorry

it makes me, take

one moment of life

and make it last forever,

mention any of it in the first place

self-fulfill

don't remember
to open up your heart
from what you found out

last time you went through this, it
wouldn't have been the last time, and
as it turns out, neither

would you. You couldn't prove any truer
but you try, try again and tell yourself
you like it this way. Yourself. The one who
tries.

Next time,
promise yourself something else. Promise
that next time

you will give up before and during,
not after and because of.