I built the structure
of a day
with blocks of thought
upon a base of time
but winds of fear
keep blowing them away
till the day is empty
then it’s gone
Awake
I
thought
I was
awake
until
I woke
now where am I
Purposes
A portrait
of inconsistent
footprints
hangs in an abandoned hallway
that leads to the dusty closet
where the inevitable
but pointless purposes
are stored and forgotten
Connected
The weight of words
hangs on my shoulders
as I walk crooked
up the wandering path
towards your question eyes
when I speak you shift attention
from the wavering center
of your universe
to test the rumbling chasm
between us
at the edge of my perception
I launch a single sailboat word
into the whispering water
and the gentle wind blows it
into the range of your touch
we are connected
Casual killers
Casual killers lounge
in the nursery of dreams
angelic ambition stabbed
with the scalpel of reality
a good natured jest
as the blood of innocent ideas
drips on the floor
it’s for your own good
he smiles taking a break
from stuffing misfits
into neat boxes of same
high low high low
its on and on we go
Sleep for a century
I could sleep for a century
and wake up at noon
I could go to bed in April
and wake up in June
I haven’t felt good
for at least three years
I’ve had a lot of fars
and not many nears
I want to change everything
but I cannot change
all I can do
is a small rearrange
too much cloud and rain
and not enough sun
every step is uphill
and not much fun
Precious stones and oranges
Precious stones
and oranges
on white shelves
in the hallway
endings and beginnings
intertwine
dust comes and goes
Uncertainty
One day I fell off the moon
and landed in the state
of uncertainty
I had been living
with the eye of information
but it was too far from indulgence
the way back was a sudden
sleepy moment
now I’m learning the language
of illusion
but I keep looking for the facts
Connection
There is a connection
between a dot of attention
on the page of today
and the hopping black crow’s
faith in sunrise
as the dots connect
to draw a circle
back to the beginning
The afternoon of life
In the quiet shade
of the afternoon of my life
I knew I had been lying to myself
about this part
there is no comfort or joy
in abandonment and withdrawal
the task must always be done
though it cannot be completed
there is a lost harmony
between the unspoken voice
and the moon and tides of yearning
for what you need today
and what you thought you had
but lost yesterday
though it was never in your grasp
