long wait

long wait

for infinity to end



might as well wait

for her mind

to change

or for your heart

to choose another,

for your mother

to stop loving you



better to accept

what will not change

as fixed,

the rotation of the Earth,

the tilt of its axis,

things that can be tested

and measured,

meeting the standards

of infallible science



yet there will always be anomalies,

those places where the Universe bends

such that 1+1=3,

where infinity ends,

and heart’s mend,

our love, a hypothesis

that has been proven correct

more

more





more –

more more

more less

more sex

more less sex

more renunciation

more meditation

more self-abnegation

more excruciation

more ascetic bliss

more nothingness

more suchness

four more lines of this

more stigmata

more zenyatta mondatta

more holy Madonna

more nirvana

not much to say

my mind --

not much to say,

to sing



unbring this

conflict,

undo its

denouement,



arms entwined,

a mass of struggle,

pushing,

urging

upward, inward



no dawn

for a sleepless night,

no day --

too much light,

nothing ventured,

nothing right

cutest couple

big light

through a narrow window,

cutest couple of the week

talking over coffee, one table away,

he, nerdy and handsome,

she, smartly dressed with black vinyl boots



I sit and read about the latest music

in a 2007 Paste magazine,

thinking of how

I sit alone

courage is not a lion

courage is not a lion…

but a hamster on a wheel,

running in place, never growing bored,

never not sure, one with what it feels,



patiently pecking at sunflower seeds

I've laced with raisins, other things it doesn’t need;

it runs and feeds and poops and runs

and pees and runs and runs then sleeps.



yes, the measure of courage

is not a hugeness of shape

nor beauty and grace

– it’s running in place,



not a roar or strength,

but persistence and faith,

a warm tousle of fur

against a child's face.

four poems

autumn cold,
I am not as old
as I sometimes feel


in mythic winter,
pink and blue aster bloom
from desert of silence


work is a blessing --
work is all of my messy moments
from past lives
bearing fruit
in present joy


thoughts weave
watery webs,
I fear to pass through,
not wanting to get wet

kasls in the sandh

it's nice to build castles in the sand,

yet the Earth shifts

by frenetic hand, does it not?

the sand, by science,

constantly undermined



we want what we wish,

may, at times, to degrees, accomplish it

but no amount of weeping,

wheedling or wondering why

will bring to fruition “a dream

that wants to die”.



with handkerchief in hand

I walk away from my castles,

let the sea and the wind

and the Earth do its work,

I head for home

to face the grieving

that will clear a space

for the fulfillment

all my striving could not attain.