He once thought that
the weight of his vision could
carry him elsewhere,
where neither pain nor profit prospered,
but then he wondered,
what incentive does God have
to be merciful
when all God loves
dies anyway?

To live in this dark quiet mess,
where the sanctification of stupid
still holds sway,
is to accept the Promethean limitations
of such a being,
the very concept



Chief among the concerns today was finding
the right hashtag to carry on
as a full member of society.

This is what it has come to.

Along those vaster Empyrean realms
no one sports in anymore,
noble sentiments now compete with
empirical analysts (soulless pickers of nits
who rely upon conspiracies of
logic and precision where gods fail to meet their muster),
and occasionally we see the wider flights:
the dancers of arts, the pluckers of strings,
the laughing churlishness of mischievous angels,
whose very presence
marks the adjuvant to our daily cocktails
making the drudgery tolerable,
the awful weird, bearable.

There is much work to do yet.

The unsetting sun


Near midnight,
The sun is still there, above the
Horizon, bleaching both books
& thangkas on the walls
Just outside this room
Where the cool golden glow
Sneaks through the door and,
Turning from my desk to see,
I sense the years as leaden weights
Lying under a cold sky.


I wanted something different, dammit, something that would
Upset the powerful and unfurl a twisting dime´s worth of
A chance to tilt it over enough to fall.
It should fall, all of it.
The sparkling shit shows that pass for news,
The grinding crush of the daily lives most lead,
The waking terror of missing a payment, a lunch, getting stopped for a ticket,
Getting recognized in the food stamp office.

Tilt it all over.
Shoot, knock it down now.

As stressful as I saw it, it was worse for the unlucky,
The lone feeders of the ether, living in boxes out back,
Or rotting trailers with flapping doors, hand to mouthing,
Praying for anyone or anything to makes us
As great as we feel we should be
But never will be and we know it.

Call me infallible.
I ain´t got nothing wrong on that last check to the counters
Where the tips are getting smaller
And the stinginess of the damnable writes “US citizens only” on theirs
Praising Jesus on the drive home, saluting the flag still flying
Near the Post Office, now closed.
Whatever becomes of this shit it´s a whole lot better
Than being vaporized in a wash of radioactive isotopes near a playground or
Dropped above your heads.
Every particle there we eat or breathe is another mark the cancer
We´re set for is a cancer we´ll see through alone
Posting prayer wishes on Facebook, crying that it´s all
Too much to bear.
I keep getting it right. Damn.

We got a choice:
We can turn up the amplitude and get walkin´
Or we can light the fires at home,
But it´s going to take long struggle and a lot more misery
Before that belated victory is seen, the better way demonstrated.

The Coming Spring Storm


Squealing through opaque windows
the whistling gusts sweep papers
to the floor
in a frenzy of mortal chaos
changing the afternoon´s plans to simpler tasks
for now.

Finally gathered together, the desk is set, the window shut,
and, pulling the shades higher to see the storm´s dark blue origins,
the mountains a mile or two beyond stare back,
giving away no secrets, the wind, granting no quarter, the skies, merciless.



We overuse everything: apologies, tools for the yard, commas,
Phones, computers, etc.,
Never taking responsibility for the critical mass we are creating,
One so explosive, it will end us all.

We are dying.

We are all walking dead,
Staring down the abyss of inattentiveness,
Oblivious to everything around us:
Kids walking to school, the ducks on the road, a baby crying down the street,
The sun, the moon, the stars above, the rich, brown earth below.
Maybe there´s an answer on Google,
Maybe someone will remind us that
We are here
To be here,
A prophet to tell us to wake up
And kiss a stranger, hug our neighbors,
Be there when we cut the grass or wash the dishes-
Be there, only there, just there.

Maybe some bacteria will infect our hearts
And collectively, we will all suffer from
Affectionis cardiitis,
Walking around looking straight into the eyes of everyone we meet
And smiling, give them a reminder of why THIS is all we have.

Because it is.

We won´t waffle – we´ll see them straight, like we sometimes see ourselves.
Then, in this new sickness, we´ll crawl on the floors with babies again,
Walk with the old people, slap a buddy on the back for no good reason
Except because he´s there, and so am I.

Maybe this sickness will spread and
Frenchmen will tell dry jokes about the water in Paris
Or Germans will imitate New Yorkers badly
While Russians will burst out with glee at something not heavy, at last!

Our favorite past time, war, will change, too.
Instead off sardine packed troop transports,
Fountains will bring people together where
Dangling feet in the cool freshness will get us all medals
And on TV news-anchors and weather folk alike will take calls
Responsive to their viewers and remind everyone
That the sun might be hidden for now
But go outside in an hour and you´ll be able to rest in it´s glow.

Maybe none of this will come to pass…
Maybe we´ll muddle as usual our way through
Until the firmament above opens up
And a voice yells,
“That´s it, I´m done! Time to start all over again!” and,
In a wash of colors we´ll never see,
Everything blank and sudden and filled with nuclear sparkles,
A sprout will one day pop up in that new time
Somewhere between cement slabs that were
Once sidewalks and,
In conversations none of us would have understood anyway,
The worms will pass the word along…
Instead of one weed popping up in photogenic splendor
Let´s all join hands and, reliant on each other
Spring upwards, breaking through the dense blocks everywhere
And take a look at the new sky
Trying once again to get it all right, this time,
Arm in arm, tail to tail, eye to eye,
Right there, right then.



I am not to be ignored
passed over, neglected, torn from community,
discarded, rent from the bonds which bind me to
all others.
I am.
So we are.
And by the dignity of being, I am to be respected.
I am a worker.
A laborer, a crafts-person, a field hand, a driver,
a carriage maker, a cab driver, a shoveler, a digger,
a plasterer, a midwife, a nurse, a caretaker,
a teacher, a driller, and nailer, and a builder.
Only where I am is there “civilization”.

But where I struggle, is everywhere.

I am not the owner of my labor, the beneficiary of my work
I receive paper and coin, forced to beg for more each year
and in the morning I will awaken and begin again until I die.
Today though, is my day,
Today is May Day.
I am not to be ignored.
I will not be oppressed, denied, abandoned or forgotten.
I will stand with others together, raise my fist up high
and welcome the day
when together we will take what is ours
and create a new world.
I am a worker.
Today is for all of us.



“let the hair down, a little
yes, just like that…”

the belly trembles
her waist wanders
along with her attention
“is he real?”

in defense,
he whispers to the air between them
“now is elevation of concern
walk with me there”

nodding, she turns to the mountain
lifts her hands
cries for something solid
so that the ground will hold her up.

between the trees and the rocks
there will be sun today.



E Ma Ho!
How wondrous!
Another expensive cannon,
Another gun, another missile
To be fired
At another enemy yet unnamed
Surely decided upon beforehand,
Unborn, unmanifested until called forth,
The hopeless acceleration
Of the world´s foremost game
Planned by a Navy, an Army, a suit and a tie!
Will a brake be ever put on this drive?
Will a driver be found to steer away from the inevitable?
How wondrous!
We look and see nothing!
There is no change, no meaning,
Only a special Hell for the widow makers
And their repetitive tasks.
There is nothing more to be seen.
It is ever thus, and always to be.
How wondrous!