Aug 19 2021

we are the dinosaurs

clumsy and violent
in our destruction

carnivore
herbivore

sure-footed-thunder
bearing down
on no future

the world is burning (turning)
turning (burning)

bleak mornings
endless nights

fear stirred by anxiety’s spear

searching for hope
in a world
already scarred
(scared)

i have a pebble
to offer

worthless

polished
smooth
by worry

set high on a shelf

worn
whole
silent

waiting

.

.

.


Apr 23 2021

the map of everything

us vs. them
man vs. nature
you vs. me

there’s a circle and a triangle
buried deep in the heart
of every clock

and we run from time
long before
the chase begins

i am here
and you are forest

or i am there
and you are tree

one of us always
rooted


Apr 18 2021

the year of living dangerously

and now they say it’s not that bad, the sky isn’t
falling and here we are, bits of blue in our hair,
trapped in the rat-maze tracks we’ve worn in the
carpet, no longer even trying to get out.

and now they say sorry, so sorry, sorry, not sorry
and no one knows who cares, doesn’t care,
can’t care, wouldn’t care, cares too much,
has gone mad with the caring, can’t find
a damn thing to care about.

and now the sky is blue but it’s always raining and
the basement’s flooding, water seeping in around
the edges, no one sees if we close the door, ignore
the smell, carry on with dinner and distraction and
pretend people aren’t dying in a dark spreading puddle
of sour statistic.

and now. the question that only ever has one
answer, the damned unprepared living of it all,
smiling when the sun hits your face for one brief
silent moment, aching for life, alive love
laughter landing, burning through the
empty stare of days.

and now.


Apr 8 2021

crop circles and tiny truths

getting old is a bitch

but it beats the alternative

truth matters

no really, it does

common sense can’t be taught

science can

the word feminism was coined by a man

of course

we’re all lost

on the same planet

i hope i’m gone

before they make the sky

less blue

 

 

 

 


Apr 18 2017

totem

the face of truth
is marked
by shadow

you and i
think
we know better

but symbol
is all
that’s
necessary
in a world
molded by
glyph

we’re sure
we invented
shorthand
clever acronym
monument

but

we’re going
backward
in a world
losing time

carving lives
from bits
and pixels
and love
from empty
promises

filtered
imagination

so little
left

to recognize

.

.

.


Apr 15 2017

virtual reality

the world we sit in
and the world we live in
have become
two different things

by now
fifteen minutes
is the measure
of antipathy
and data
the construct
of worth

observation
has replaced
interaction

i see you
you see me

we do not touch

i know one thing
about you

you know
three things
about me

it all adds up

we can’t
catch up

.

.

.


Apr 3 2017

dancing on the horizon
of memory

the ladies gathered every evening
tap-tapping with canes and shuffling mules
to talk about the storm that was always coming
and the girl that walked to Seattle
pain always sitting on somebody’s lap
and death on a bench in the corner
pretending to be ignored

no one rose up to kiss away the chip
on a bony-cold squared-off shoulder
no one was afraid and
no one was falling
for the pout on the face of resistance

by this time they were all old friends
acceptance was the belt
holding the bathrobe closed
and besides, thelma told
the best stories

.

.

.


Feb 20 2017

the sky is falling

you sing me songs of february summer
and i laugh at the absurdity
because
nothing makes sense anymore
and everything

is a tune
from those long ago years
when we believed
in certainty

still
i smile and i dance
at words
spilled from
wist and sunshine

so ripe with yesterday’s
short season of naiveté

when we were young
and you were golden
and i
was just a rose

.

.

.


Jan 22 2017

finding hope in tiny places

.

sometimes we have to take a step back

before we move forward

remember all the things we’ve forgotten

forget all the answers

revisit

the questions

.

there is always

beauty in life

life in growth

growth in pain

.

the cartography of tomorrow

is drawn from the pen

of present

.

tenacity is the bloom

of survival

.

open

.

.

.

.


Sep 30 2016

on tying up loose ends

it feels like that’s what this year has been, this year of racing the unknown, scrambling up a mountain of change, lying down in a bed of blind faith.

i keep all the knots loose, for easy escape, and, of course, to make room for new growth.

but nothing stays tidy for long, i know that now.

the sun and the wind and the moon and the stars all conspire to change the shape of existence, sculpting time into their own artistic vision.

so what if i can’t see what they’re creating?

so what if my eyes sting with the strain of trying?

so what if the swamp dries up and the trees bend with thirst and the field of corn across the street turns brown before it reaches four feet tall?

we’re all running, away or toward. we’re all breathing in this air that touches everything and everyone.

we are all this vine turning back upon itself when there is nothing else to hold onto.

breathing in light and exhaling silence.

the flowers that plant themselves become my favorites.

grasping opportunity or fighting for survival, it’s all perspective.

it’s all lost in the cold of winter.

there are always new seeds being planted.

there are so many questions without answers hanging high in a colorless sky.

i leave them for the night that promises results.

i leave them for the bird that soars through hunger.

i leave them for the child that cries to untangle.

tomorrow is always weaving a new story.

today is a word lit by inhale.

.

.

.