Despair Is Not Inevitable

despair isn’t stone

it’s not bedrock absolute

it’s here beside joy

The Erstwhile Colorado

the river rushed by where the town stood

the grass was soft beneath

aching feet of the factory people 

whose scuffed black boots lay 

on warped brown wooden porches

parched throats soothed with iced sun tea

sprig of mint from a garden in the mason jar

lemon wedge in the glass

where the ice cubes clinked catching

the last light

after the last soft rain

Echoing Light

the moon not just reflecting

redirecting sol now out of sight

it’s singing sun song

echoing light

you and i have been and gone

rippling into endless night

this is not me just projection

echoing light

this life is feather light

incandescent lovely bright

the darkest times aren’t quite

because we are

Government Haiku

i’d gladly tell the

government to go to hell

but they’d like it there

The Night Continues

the night continues

growing darker with no sign

of a coming dawn

she waits terrified

shallow breaths her body tense

in control no more

gun grease oil and blood

by political machines

forever inscribed

Post-Apocalyptic Sketches

exploration of this ruin requires patience 

amounting to slow dark progression

out of the ashfall skirting the dust motes

the outlines of the plan still there in the steel and concrete

as are the signs of the long steady slip into silence

in the belief of superiority and the comfort of isolated knowledge

compartmentalization even in civil interactions and cultural participation

suckling at the mass market curling in the safety of the sold 

suspicious of

the wholly new

we quickly lost common ground privatizing the rest

even before we sheltered in place

in this underground once used for transit like a tunnel for a worm

stretching scraping through the rotten entrails of the urban rubble

a burrow for the vestiges of victors without a victory

since no one wins at war

Injustice

red-faced fuck in a spoiled child tantrum

demeanor unbecoming of a high court judge

take a solemn oath and then lie before the panel

they ask about the law 

you say the law won’t budge

lied about the alcohol lied about the rape

putting on robes in the office that you ape

victimizing women with his legal choices too

justice Kavanaugh don’t give a fuck about you

Haiku: Rain

rain strikes the river

ricochet off the surface

a storm upside down

To Erie Down Canadaway

follow the glassy green shine 

rippling on the water 

beneath the hemlock boughs

wind through the shadowed canopy

splitting the low summer sun into splinters of gold

flecks flitting in the rivulet ethereal fish

swimming to the open of the inland sea

Summer

summer is long glaring days

the buzz of the air conditioners

the hum of the fan rustling papers

closed blinds cool dim rooms

summer squirms in my humid skin

sun burning crisp the tops of my ears

sweat beading on my forehead

the resulting clustered pimples

summer is for late lonely walks

or a bike ride to the lake’s edge

friends calling you out for drinks

and turning off the ringer

summer has no confidences

i emerge only when i can hide

or rise to the rooftop’s cool breezes

cold drinks and a condensate of secrets

Adrift

wrapped in blankets smothered 

drowning out the outside 

bounded and soundless

heaven to the tortured ear 

unaccepted permeant loss

worn like the albatross 

neck broken swinging 

shit pouring out on deck 

whether the man or the fowl 

in foul weather

the storm to be weathered

weathered and worn

torn asunder

run afoul

the sickness and its vessel

the alienated and the alienist

reprehensible to the daylight

shining eyes of the common

myself sightless i hide behind parole

to make me meaningful and whole

lend me the last shreds of my dignity

the rest returned in the wind

that final tempest

that mental Charybdis spin

caressing beak and feathers to chest

faithless stinking

shouting the prayer out to

nothing there

sinking

The Language of Childhood

the language of childhood 

words steeped in hope

early poetic impressions

raw imaginative power

but first we reach the age

when it’s coo-coo not cool

then adulthood needs an app

to tippy tap and translate

and parents fear the boundary

between fantasy and danger

still waiting on that app

Failure

failing is learning

success seeds thirst for the sky

try and fail and grow 

or fly and fall and grow

only never fail to try

Haiku: Sleep

sleep takes a lover

working backward from the end

first the eyes wander

Stress

the maddening crush of invisible weight

nonphysical presence pressing

the relative relation of nonrelation

a thought pressure on the head imposing 

tension dripping wet and slick behind the ears 

thick as melted butter 

with the stink of fear

Bookstores

i always worked in bookstores

but in each the owners were pretentious pricks

who took no joy in peddling pages

angry their own were never published

or dumb as bricks businessmen and women

who didn’t give a damn for a book

but when it made them cash

to them it was a game of sales

and a bookstore an easy target 

to practice on

and there never was a better word than chains

for the corporate bookstores

where the clerks are paid pennies per hour

pushing promotions and memberships
for the rich to get richer

but at least there the corruption is bare

and the books themselves

just sit on the shelves

fall into hands or get dusted

words are not dead just encrusted and still

cocooned in the shops

lying in wait to hatch in a mind

and fly

Betrayal Trip

conniving knives 

binding backs 

stabbing thriving hacks 

bloodlust and mud 

rusted out shouting about

DNA crowdfunding 

cracker jacks 

lacking the candy 

crush and crunch of youth 

the dopamine punches 

gone like a shot 

on the scene with the lean 

mean theater queen flirty

beckoning American cousin

not the dirty dozen

but in balconies

with John Wilkes Booth

sweet tooth teaser 

not fortuitous pushed

Caesar downed pin cushioned 

super bloody gratuitous 

how about you Brutus 

this time really thrust 

to drive home 

how much trust

is too much trust

Owned

curse this work the fucking thief

pharaoh has me in the field

it eats my time and pays me grief

who takes the bigger yield

heqet consumed the rest is sleep

the river dredged the barrow wheeled

my time is spent with none to keep

beneath the sun without relief

it’s useless now to weep

The Wake of The Dream

asleep my dreams are often just as real

leaving me asking if i’m feeling what i feel

all these senses translate in my head

sensational while immobile in my bed

while all good sense might tell me what is true

i dream of waking wishing that i knew

Spots

stain on a shirt

scuff on the floor

watermarked window

tread soiled door

stress glazed work day

sarcasm tainted praise

anxious relaxation

sleepless nights 

exhausted days

diversion is despair disguised

freedom a fairytale too

escape is a delayed trap

the only way out

is through

The Ends of Humanism

people aren’t worth the winsome world 

that breach-birthed us into being

see when we profess to save the planet

clean the mess we made we mean

i guess

to save ourselves

for the little we scramble to gain

when at last we give our last

and are gone

regenerative resplendent 

earth will turn on and on

until the swallowing of the sun

or at least 

until the next exploiters come

Desire

desire is everywhere

an airy ocean flowing

around life that

surges and retreats

and surges

do not desire?

please.

i would sooner hold my breath

until my head swam

swimming the surge

What To Do When The Words Won't Come

what to do when the words won’t come

just hum the tune

and think of the freest you’ve ever felt

heart brimming with love and pleasure

spilling over into song

Voyager Three

each streetlamp a stationary star 

each house a planted planet

rooms countries behind gated walls

sometimes at war

bed is a state with

blankets sheets bodies rumpled topography

like a pillow hill and 

head the city teeming with life

that sometimes doesn’t sleep

we are worlds apart

i would come to you

make friends of interstellar neighbors

we could teach each other much i’m sure

i only wish i had the technology

until then

this is my interplanetary probe poem

saying we are here

hi there

Haiku: Burn Out

      my 

        light             

was                 

under      

              the      

        bushel  

basket        

so                  

long       

 all 

    that’s     

left is 

smoke

Kids These Days

there’s a menacing quality

to the teenage laughter of this neighborhood 

i have trust issues and

i know they won’t take me seriously

these kids bouncing balls and yelling at night

or driving windows down and tunes up loud

i am glad their enjoying themselves but

not at the expense of the solace of others

i’m not going to yell at them to get off my lawn

or turn down the goddamned music

how could they hear me in the clouds 

but on the ground

i have children of my own now who need to sleep

and i have jangled nerves that need untangling

and a need for a simplified life where things go right 

if only once in a while

Plea

stay with me tonight

alone the darkness 

hungers sorrows

the wine is heartier together

the repast a joyous feast

sleep in warmth and safety

leave at dawn if you must or

remain friend

and i will hurl myself headlong

into the world’s gardens 

to give you a bounty of day

To June

i owe my heart’s late spring

to the golden light of June 

beaming through new green leaves 

scattered by schools of dandelion fluff 

swimming the air with the smell of cut grass

soft on palms and soles 

tossed childish laughter into hair

mixed by rolling down the hill side 

over side green stained jeans spin 

with arms tucked in

Olive

tiny purple pebble fruit drupe

fermented in wine of fine vinegar brine

on my tongue alive saliva salty sea

i bite through that bitter skin and chew

unless i hit a pointed pit see

then i spit

Haiku: Overcast

windblown slate gray sky

leaves hiss like TV static

mind becomes mirror