wonders of the modern age

I am crossing the street
with paper bags in hand
filled to bursting
with groceries

the first inkling
of tearing
has me limping
a little quicker

and I am halfway across
when the bags break
kneel to pick up
a half gallon of milk
and tofu

a line of cars wait
though the light has changed

"oh fuck"; I am grappling
with organic vegetables

and a man arrives
from the far side of the street
kneels with me
takes up what is left
of the spilled groceries

walks me across, and then
leaves me at the corner,
as I have a handle on this

and the last bit of grace,
a woman gets out of her car
and offers a plastic bag
a home for the tofu and milk
in my spare hand

my life in Mondays

morning spent
in gross dis-awareness
quasi-consciousness
mis-mindfulness
my life in Mondays

come evening
a sprig of spearmint
a power smoothie, green
with small, black seeds
supersweet
drowning all I left
at the doorstoop
of your remembrance

qualms

loss is a good word
much like love
or dust

qualms with the Universe?
think of the black holes colliding
out there

never before
have we seen you shining
so brilliant
so sublime

still crave resolution?

open the left hand cupboard
the left

your answer
is in
a small wood box

behind
the right

stars overlook this place

stars overlook this place
where highways meet
night sky
begins to wonder --
why these stacked cars
in curved lines,
lights blaring into the rear
of each one in front?
why these hotels and motels?
why these restaurants?
why these stars?
why these questions,
this ceaseless dodging
of honest answers?
why was I born into mediocrity,
raised in limp denial of self?
why have I come here
for the velvet sky to tell me
"we are out of excuses,
you must now answer
for yourself"?

a prayer not for us

bounce as high as it takes
to split the sky
with well wishes
for all of those
beyond

that they may know peace
in their four-dimensional homes
smoking their plasma pipes
on the dream dunes
of black hole shores

unrequote

in coolness
they flaunt their
unwashed bodies
coil and merge
her head
touches the lobe
of his ear
he stares
at the yellowed window frame
the fly, winged voyeur
stares back
she kisses his ear
he flinches
carries her engulfing bosom
to the altar
of his mouth
he hesitates

worlds are born
in the gap
between loving
and refusal
to love

grave matters

lining up
for destitution row
thoughts, concepts
images, intimations
mention me to your God
when you speak to Him

overturn your allegiance
to dustballs and loose threads
get in line behind me
for the grave awakening

my fall backward
will shield you
from the lightning pulse
of realization