The sky is falling…
Well, maybe just a speck of dust, but
Pill swallowed; now
Mellow: yellow snow is just as
cold as white. By night,
who can tell the difference?
Close the door; turn on all the
Bar the windows; lock them
Keep the bogey in the dark.
You’ve had your lark. Time to get
Have I said
too much? The rush
to judgment withheld;
the Gavel never fell; and I…
I, one eye on hell and
one on heaven, and even then
schizophrenic: where to look? what
to see? Only me
and my shadow (that’s
You). A shoe that drops
is a shoe somebody threw
into whatever stew is boiling
to say it never happened…
my plate away
(In the aftermath of Charleston)
To each bullet a heart,
One drop of blood yet
unspilled by hate not fate–
They say the day stole away
They lie! To try but fail
fail to try? Tell me why or why
Not. And while we rot, our thoughts go
out to all and sundry,
a laundry-list of new neglect.
Who selects the few that do?
The few that don’t? A brazen trumpet
sounds the note: The sun has set;
we have not yet
You looked through me;
that’s what threw me.
It’s like I wasn’t there.
Don’t you care that I’m on fire?
A giant, flaming pyre of diseases of the mind?
I think you’ll find, upon inspection,
a singular infection: I exist.
What a twist! So unexpected!
I’m more than just figment
of your inner fascination. Not a
bump to stub your toe on; not a beach
to ebb and flow on: I have tides
all of my own. Not a stone to be hurled
at an unsuspecting world
I am not
the moral of your story.
Here’s the thing: we’re
through, me and you; we’re
done. Stunned? And well you
might be. See, a tree is only as
broad as its branches, a tourniquet
as useful as the wound that it
stanches. And you are neither, not one.
So we’re done. Have fun!
Becoming, I am
in worlds at once, foot
in the one, heart in the other.
I am the leaf that falls, too
the wind that bears it, spiraling,
to the receptive ground, and I am
that which receives it.
I am the tree from which it falls, also
the space between its beginning and
its end: there when it was but a bloom,
and when its bloom has died, there as well.
Becoming, I am in worlds at once,
once and never still, and what is and what will
Becoming, I am.
at the peak, before the car
begins its descent, spent, is
eternity in an instant. Breaks
a cold sweat, clammy,
wet; all is set to drop and never
stop until we reach the bottom.
Then a sigh: I think we just died