Tuesday, January 16, 2018


collapse by your wall of assumptions
fall into feeling and intuitive darkness
suffer the highway sparrow
that hops broke-winged across the exit lane
pleading for the mercy of brake pads and calipers
leave the safety of your vehicle
the comfort of warmth behind
take a step onto the grey blood of healing
its slickness covers the off-ramp
drivers question as they slide
who am I? what have I become?

guardian angel

many rivers
forged and aflame
look behind you
your trail has an angel
sweeping your droppings

your mistakes and personal flaws
the adorable way you dump your problems
at the feet of those who love you
you will pay some day

the angel for a soul more cluttered than your own
with rapturous devotion, you will be cleaning the refuse
of one such as me
for 51 bliss-filled years

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Inner work

The shelf-life of mental illness. Coruscating images in the mind’s eye. A change of heart. A sickened soul. Living free from addictive behavior, one day at a time. Formerly, a monster, now a butterfly, or an apprentice-saint. Inner work.

Transformation. A saving thought. Pissing on a rock in the sun. Wheee!! Freedom, like a singular, stellar object. Alone and never having seen another. Spiraling and shooting sparks like a hand on fire, or a truth you can’t shake. Total trust. Forgetting until humility reminds you.

Sunday, December 31, 2017


lichen, pond scum and decay
the bog, smelling musty, grotesque, marvelous
belonging wholly to the realm of the Earth

what are we to make
of a habitat of corrupt human beings?

it is just a landscape, a microcosm of the cosmic mind

knowing it as this
a monument of stink
who would place blame?
who would judge or concern themselves?

as nature moves through us
cleansing our putrid wounds
as all things must pass
not even despair can last

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

unto herself (for everybody's Jerusalem)

the sounds of blue and black and yellow
the sun wearing its masks
me, you, Jew, Christian, Muslim, concerned bystander
spits her rays at fate
lays down upon setting
no mask to hide her becoming
what she has dreamt
an urgency through the night to wake,
to arise to light her own path through the sky

what I learned and what I unlearned

what I learned

and what I unlearned

through a covering of sparse nettles

I was so close to breathing

to the ghost of freedom

lay your hands at your sides

the fur inside your throat

you wheeze and claw

but no succor comes

lay down

in the path of the storm

it will assault your soul

and then will pass,

your brilliant compassion,

sparkling with fresh light,

left raw to the coming dawn

Monday, December 18, 2017

three’s a Tuesday morning

a cane
with the doorknob
as a hook

an old couple
and a third wheel
drink coffee
eat pastry

the third, a talker he is
leads or commands
the conversation

demands their attention
in exchange
for a Tuesday morning's

from thoughts of
aches and operations
from children
and grand- and greatgrandchildren
with smaller worries