In This Exact Moment — A Different Moment

Sometimes there’s nothing
invisible copse of not trees
unabashed naked denuded
leaf decayed long time ago
Surfaceless lake, waterless
bottomless, a not negative
not positive, lost batteries
without a charge waiting
for absent loss of control
remotes without thought

Today:

eat

drink

love

sleep

Watch “The Long Commute” on YouTube

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Ignoring this Site

I have been ignoring this site, which sucks, because means I have been lazy, depressed, or just plain distracted with shinier objects.

Sorry.

Charlie Brown

A kite in the tree
the crab apple tree
Want to get it down
the kite is stuck
and you only shrug
Say “Let the dog in”

This is your life
Charlie Brown

A Monarch in the tree
the kite is a Monarch
Stuck in the tree
In the crab apple tree
Still you only shrug
Say, “Let the dog in”

This is your life
Charlie Brown

Look at that kite
Up in the tree
This is important
The kite stuck in the tree
Again you only shrug
Say “Let the dog in”

This is your life
Charlie Brown

But Chuck is stuck
Up on a tree
He is no Monarch, no kite
in the crab apple tree
Finally you only shrug
Say, “Let the dog in”

This is your life
Charlie Brown.

A kite in the tree
the crab apple tree
Want to get it done
The kite is stuck
Finally, you shrug
Say, “Let the dog in”

Population — On Oregon Stand Off

320 million lonely sparks of light
shine for each other and sometimes
by themselves, without an audience
All moving, mostly circumscribed
though some go astray, some falter
some spin off, colliding with others
destroying along their broken path
some take, also breaking the calm,
unto themselves what is not theirs
some simply benignly sink or fade
while others burst froth great gouts
of explosive heat in a last dying gasp
to be something bigger than designed
to be something grander than planned
to be something other than another
in a big crowd, all too homogeneous
all so the same, and all too proscribed.

Noise

Let sounds drip
from finger tips
onto guitar sting
or keys on a board
a slow soft arpeggio
or pounding drums
it doesn’t matter what
just create some noise.

 

The Monster Behind the Door

Behind the door, open almost always
are small black puffs of Labrador hair
flecks of white, red from a couple pits
maybe a strand or two of husband/wife
brown, his being a bit darker than hers
a small but growing mass, protected
behind the door, open almost always
hidden from view and from broom
which too infrequently makes rounds
a mass of hair, gathering unto itself
like a beast gestating in a dark lair
unleashed only by closing the door

 

Images of a Flood Plain

Spontaneously staged videos
rigged reality filthies facets of life
Oozes slow into the small cracks
like water seeping though walls
it’s just a trickle that introduces rot
and drenches dreams and dirties fantasy
stains shiny aspirations like rust on chrome
Flooded plains of our resolve, putrid with rot
with no vision of higher ground, we drown.

Log Jam

Days flow down and away
river jammed packed with logs
groaning together on the raging
waters from head of the flume
to the gated and closed bottom
groaning under pent up pressure
as if influenced by their own desire
to be free of the muddy slippery banks
and confines from shore to distant shore
to sail alone, with time to stretch, peacefully,
one at a time like a swimmer bobbing along
on the changing whim of the comforting current
finally being pushed downstream through the delta
into a the wide open raging sea to be confined no more
by shores but left to wander on one wave after another