How Much a Kiss Can Release
Mind abuzz, body stiff, I take
my meds and wait for rest. For
by now the clouds have come
and gone and brought no rain,
the dishes are put away, all
juice squeezed from the day…
Mind abuzz, body stiff, I take
my meds and wait for rest. For
by now the clouds have come
and gone and brought no rain,
the dishes are put away, all
juice squeezed from the day…
“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement.” – Wayne Dyer I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod, alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out, make way for something better. I have asked what better is, been taught […]
If I had my
way, I suppose there would be no shorelines,
no dying light sinking into bruised-blue lakes, no
dead poets, no Libraries of Alexandria…
It’s Fall on an even-numbered year
which means an election looms, again.
We wander pumpkin patches, corn mazes, haunted
houses, make holiday plans, think what gifts to give.
I wish to sit by the window and read—but not
outside, where UV rays intrude, and wildfire
smoke, and gunfire, and bird-shit dropped
at random. In my mind’s eye the outdoors
wounds but does not break the skin…
Dearest, I meant to prove myself worthy of every challenge, up to death itself. The day began with feats of strength, like getting out of bed and brushing my teeth. I took till noon to venture out; by then the […]
I found a cricket in my kitchen, wounded, on its back,
little legs flailing as if it could walk upside down. I heard..
no chirps, no yelps of pain, no cries for help;
I lacked the heart to crush him. Gently, I carried him
You needn’t believe in ghosts to dance with them. Just ask the Robin napping in the quiet of a broken fountain, drunk on jasmine and sugar. Ask drowsy Orion, who was up all night, or the Taiga, bent on its […]
To write love poems when this world’s a mess
is like, depending on your point of view,
finding jasmine on the moon—an excess
of joy where all is bleak—or dreams of blue
sky at night, of food in famine…
We are all mourners now, our clothes
funeral shrouds we tear off our backs
when the time comes (and it will come);
in one pocket we carry brushes for tidying
the graves we stumble on in schools, churches,
nightclubs, concerts, grocery stores, streetcorners…