Sep 11 2022

nine eleven

twenty-one years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

.

I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event.
I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.
Never forget.

.


Sep 11 2022

building glass houses

because all the mirrors
are broken
and your reflection

always hung
slightly crooked

framed by deckled edge
and past perturbance

and i
forever-settled
for the spot-speckled
lower left corner

while you took
center stage
with your soliloquy
of silence


Sep 1 2022

sitting on the ground in all sorts of places

and today I’m at the edge

of waves and water
water and waves

rolling sound and
rumbling cloud

tumble stumble
roam-rambling
around and around
and around

bent clock chiming
a litany of blue
false mirror memories
written only in sand

waves and water
water and waves

wearing down bone-sharp corners and
twisted-knife wounds

bash-crashing
ripple dancing
up the coast of blind deception

drowning out the sound
of simple silence
concealed in the shade
of broken boulders

pounding
washing
polishing
clean

these broken-tainted
pickled ghosts
drinking rich
from thirst’s existence