Monday, August 31, 2015

The Fragile Part

They said to show the fragile part.
You hadn’t learned the art.
As soon as tried, the plan was botched.
Weakness isn’t fond of being watched.


Sunday, August 30, 2015

What You’re Leaning On

New meanings
may begin
to dawn

when you begin
to wonder

if anything,
leaning on.


Saturday, August 29, 2015

Your Curvilinearities

Today your curvilinearities
achieved a volume
they had never known before.
And they want more.


Friday, August 28, 2015

You and Albert

You do not know the species
of the animal you love:
you call him Albert.

Both of you enjoy the sounds
of cooing doves
and singing birds.

You and Albert have
an understanding
which does not require words.


Thursday, August 27, 2015

If Death were Pink and Life were Gray

If death were pink
and life were gray,
would we mistake
one for the other?

Which one’s
the other’s


Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Walking with a Friend Through Heavy August Air

Walking with a friend
through heavy August air,
measuring it by its pressure
on bare sunlit skin,

wetness sometimes
leavening a bit – sweat
which lets a breeze permit
it to evaporate – leave a breath.

Walking with a friend
as if to lend each other something
of the secret of a moment shared,
parsing out the bared

and blessed, a mystery
of timelessness, nothing
you’d know how to say,
something that won’t go away.


Tuesday, August 25, 2015

No Longer Art

One day the form she formed,
upon its own abrupt volition,
warmed and moved –

began to breathe;
what proved in it to be
what we’d call life

began to seethe;
exhibiting familiar tensions,
it evinced a sentience –

and became a friend.
That such a thing could
move toward such an end!

There was one realm of which
she knew, however, it could not
be part. No longer was it art.


Monday, August 24, 2015

Considering Alternatives

Here we are pursuing it again –
considering alternatives which then
may open up new avenues through which
we might discover some new way to switch
to being something other than we are:
an iPad, say; or Hedy Lamarr.


Sunday, August 23, 2015

Such Strange Happiness as Mine

Myriads of friendlinesses –
each inimitably fine –

came up in their friendly messes –
sat with me today to dine

on beleaguered watercresses
steamed in Abercrombie wine –

modeled all their gingham dresses,
crooning ditties to align

with whatever goddess blesses
such strange happiness as mine. 


Saturday, August 22, 2015

But Not to Worry

Perception is selection:
gaining, losing mind.
But not to worry.
You’re choosing fine.


Friday, August 21, 2015

Families, Occasionally

The sharing and the rearing
and the baring and the steering
of the odd phenomenon

we know as family!
Often only nominally close,
yet always ripe with doses

of the essence of each member
of the thing, families, occasionally,
make me want to sing.


Thursday, August 20, 2015

The Big Burly King and the Little Blue Thing

We cannot find a meaning that will serve.
And so we’ll merely say what we observe.

The big burly king
and the little blue thing,

escaping the violet light,
proceed through the tangerine night.


Wednesday, August 19, 2015

No Other Possible Conclusion

The ugly grunts –
the rude affronts!
Shunned undeservedly

by something which quite
simply doesn’t want you
in its picture – when everything

you thought was ceiling, floor
and fixture comes to zero.
There is no hero. There is no fit.

There is no other possible
conclusion: you are it.


Tuesday, August 18, 2015


He thinks
that everyone
and everything
is made
of wood.

Of course,
he would.


Monday, August 17, 2015

The Perfect Confidant

Who is the perfect confidant?
Someone who knows when to propose

a soft d├ętente – who undergoes
with you those journeys of the heart

for which you think you yearn
without exactly taking part? Somebody

who has such a preternaturally fine
assignment of wise sensibilities that he

or she can tease you into seeing
more than you’d been able

quite to see before?

But when the day grows late,
I think I’d rather have a playmate.


Sunday, August 16, 2015

Why We Should Worship Him

If we’d let him pursue what he was born to do –
construe, construct his ineluctable Utopia –
well, nothing ever would portend again
the barest faint ennui. For all eternity,
he’d take the rarest care of you and me.