See
then
the
lifeboats
made
of hardened honey
melting
in an ocean of flames, the gangway crowded
with
the
dying
embered
people
toppling. The shore
was
always a mirage
of mirage
of mirage
the Taj
Mahal
of fools, the tinder
toxin
cries
of a
dying race, their faces
forgetting
themselves
afloat;
the soaking brine
was ever
a mix
of tears
too heavy
to hold them
still
they
blathered, mindful of nothing but
themselves -
their
unguent
moment. Of course
they sank - days
dawn
one
more
heavily
than the last
for
life
is lead.
For An Hour
This
is what I'd like
to do -
take
your face
in my hands, sit across from you
and stare
into your
eyes
for an hour.
Deeply.
Intently
as can be, not saying a word, barely
breathing,
but
breaths come
evenly
and slow.
That's
what
I'd
need to
get
to know you. Then, when
the tears
are almost
at the surface, pull
your head to my shoulder and give
a hug.
A big one.
So
you'd know
I saw it.
Silent Spectator
In the middle of reading
about
Lincoln
and his legendary wit
a cabinet
made
of rivals
I heard the tit-tit-tit
of water
hitting the bucket
in the
room
which meant
it was hitting
near the rim
and not
the cloth
at the
bottom,
which would
have silenced it
so I got up and moved it
over
an
inch
and was left
with silence
and the
chuckling
of a
dead
president.
"Roof
is leaking," Abraham said
and I agreed.
Ohm Bullshit
"The ohm is the SI unit of electrical impedance"
Sometimes
the
simple
fist
raised
to circumstance, the stomped
foot
when
the
putting off
is done
is the
one rung needed
to begin the climb
back
out
of depression
and then
the
sun
full
in
the face
one
minute
is
what it takes. Thank
God
for
sun -
for
looking at the stunning
red ball
the way the pace picks up
and the laughter bubbles again
after the Zen
hole
emptiness
when all flights
out
were
cancelled,
and I
didn't die.
A Journey In Time
Skating
past
procastination, giving a nod
to sentiment
I see
what
went before
as an exercize in seeking
out
the one
place
where it's safe. I failed
completely. This doesn't trouble me. I know
it's
simply
the nature of things
to want
a bunting
when
there are only floods and thorns, and the moon
grins down
on the children of nature
but he
has no arms -
we, hug-less, lug
our lives, suitcase
