that's mrs. mediocrity to you

it’s friday again
and also

snowing

the birds breathe fire
and singe the cat’s hair
and i’m finally able
to say:

spring

(but no one hears me)

…

twenty 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.

.

the world is on fire

stop what you’re doing
no
stop

nothing is fair and the sky is lit
broken

stop
listening
smiling dancing and buying
stop building hiding
breathing
complaining

stop spinning

stop spilling

stop drilling
for rain

i’m an ocean of echo
on the tilt-shift of dragon

i am gold and philosophy
still and bespoken

i am school with no student
blinded by billow

i’m the cloud of refrain
in a field of forgotten

stop

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

.

.

.

nothing and everything
left behind

pain on pane

swift angel of morning
dusty dove
winged evidence

ethereal

mercurial

captured

…

herding blue and green
through the fast moving symphony
of spring

black birds
dot the sky
b flat
e minor
g sharp

notes of hunger

and freedom

spelled with stump
and fury

at being
left
behind

off key

and obbligato

…

sunrise manifests
in shades of grey
a tinge of pink
filtered through a jar
left too long
on a too full counter
just because
you love
the shape
of shadow

…

no place to go
except into
new growth

…

blue sky, day dry
another loop of miles, smiles,
burning, yearning

false flock
getting ready
to fly

…

the color of love
and the scent of sunshine

sweet and sharp
short and poignant

ephemeral

…

…