my joy
is that of a
lost hiker
finally located
under brambles
scabbed cold
sucking rocks
Dear God
Great Spirit
why do I always slink
into this leather bound lair?
Leave your head.
You are cleansed.
The world is out here.
my joy
is that of a
lost hiker
finally located
under brambles
scabbed cold
sucking rocks
Dear God
Great Spirit
why do I always slink
into this leather bound lair?
Leave your head.
You are cleansed.
The world is out here.
Both
Dread in the head runs down metal suck tube
poisons my rib cage of rats
The sun rose behind Mount Tom today
Scowling men cold eyes in suits those suits make me
nervous those haircuts too fan boys of Jesus and soldiers
Chickadees dance in hedges, mourning doves coo
Conspiracy droplets broadcast float settle on surfaces
remain unsure how long infect susceptible minds
Maple branches redden, arteries of earth blood
mom dad grandpas aunts what world will be left
for our kids?
Walked a different way home (everyone is walking!)
Met a friend from ten years back
real sweet guy named Cliff
lives right around the block
We talked of Bodega Bay, where we both spent time
from six feet away
On occasion I am
granted
glimpses through my
clever fog
Teenage sons, all limbs and
watchful
Golden woman, just so
in her skin
I shan’t strain to see
bluer skies
The gods are here
Right now
The Teacher says
You’ll know when to step up
read the signs.
Doesn’t he know I need to keep hidden?
It’s a habit, invisibility,
a useful one
Except when the call comes
The Teacher says,
Walk through the fear.
I don’t have that skill.
But what if it’s what I’m born to do?
The next thing that
leads to the next, and so on.
Then he says,
Failure is inevitable
Are you beginning to get the picture?
One’s fate isn’t like building a deck
or buying a car.
Specific advice just won’t do.
Lau Tzu, the Tao te Ching guy,
He had the knack.
It is what it is, he might say today.
But it probably isn’t.
September
Scritch of crickets
outside my window
When did that all start?
I’ve been busy
scratching mosquito
bites into wounds,
picking the scabs
Look at the ceiling,
water stained from the
upstairs bath!
How to soothe this
itchy masochism?
The salve is beyond my
skull-walled house, in the
cricket static of a
September dawn.
I must go out there!