5.25.2012

I Thought It Might Be the Apocalypse

        I thought it might be the apocalypse.
The air shimmering, circling, bright.
        Children in their homes,
        Parents afraid of the night.

        A low horn blaring, incremental,
resounding.  All Four Corners are listening
        And they all know it's time.

        The trumpeteer, triumphant, returning
at last.  His chariot on fire, takes
        away all last breaths.

        We all go out to watch Him.
The air shimmering, circling, bright.
        All fears and doubts vanish,
        Leaving only
                              Light,
                              Light,
                              Light.

5.23.2012

Found


Found the meaning of day
in the middle of the night:
We wouldn’t see half as much
if it weren’t for the light.

Found the meaning of sleep
when I awoke:
If it weren’t for our dreams,
we wouldn’t know hope.

Found the meaning of life
from my best friend’s death:
To savor each moment,
to hold in every breath.

Found the meaning of night
in the dry afternoon:
We wouldn’t live half as long
if it weren’t for the moon.

5.21.2012

Ignoring Me


I have found
a freedom
from
       my self.

                        ignorant of my
                        own feelings,

                                                I can currently,
                                                            whimsically,
                                                            act on anything
                                                            without reproof

from my conscience.


go ahead,
pass the vodka,
the heroin,
the glock.

I’m going
to do
something
I might
regret.


That is,
            if I encounter
       my self
again.

Punk


shut up,
             I wish
      to say
             to that
obnoxious
      woman
             sitting
       to
my left.

I won’t,
             because
       her man
             is right
next to
       her
             laughing,
          and
being daft.

5.19.2012

The Lives of Passing Cars


I watch the car
to my left
pass
and see a man.

He,
in earnest,
is making his way
to some place
unknown.

I call him a
speeder,
a liar,
a reprobate.

Then I am
overcome
with pity,
for I know
that he too
will one day
experience
loss.

Cold Cinders


                           All I see –
is a heart of impenetrable darkness
in the bosom of this
blinding city.

Your pungent
coffee shop
with your
double-mocha-latte
is just
gonna
kill you
sooner.

– Sooner than you’d like.


Wouldn’t you like to breathe
the fumes of futile
wants and wants and wants
just one more
time?

One more day in this
Wanton City of Need?

Ha!

Go ahead,
go ahead with your need
to buy and buy and buy.

You won’t find me in line.
No, you won’t find me waiting in the line
leading straight to
The Reckoning of Wants.

You’ll be suffering
when the fires come.
When they come to take away your precious
coffee and Coke and coal mines.

Ha!

Then we’ll see this city the way it was meant to be:
cinders,  Cold Cinders. 
              Heartless Ash.
              Unforgiving Embers.

And I will look at the fallen stalwart skyscraper,
who trampled your once loved coffee shop,
and I will smile
because all I will see
is the heart of invincible light
resiliently overcoming
the heart of impenetrable darkness
who stamped
your core
with Want
disguised as Need.

Jazz Connection


I try
       each night
       to entice
my self
                    to do nothing
                        not even think.

You may call it meditation– 
But I,
           call it connection
                                        to the soul.


I put on jazz,
                     I retract.
                     I hinder
my past.
                                   I relinquish
                                   the duty
                                   of my future.

                     I do not worry,
                     I let it all plunge
                                                            back to the oblivion
                                                            from which it was fashioned.

I become whole,
                            with Creator
                                                      and Created.
                                                      I’m dead
                            to the Whore
and to the Fool.

                           I am free
                           to waste into poetry,
                                                            and bleed
                                                            into eternity.