For The Birds

one great pleasure i know

is walking away from work midday

to spread birdseed on the snow

Bus Pan Soup

the diner rises predawn

closed sign soon spun open

slapping the silence

clock coffees clattering cups

cutting through brown blinds

day’s waves ripple

circadian synthesizer

after several escalations

trays filled and exhausted

this mass of sweat 

and kitchen stink

congeals and individuates

becoming another face 

lost in seething crowds 

on the babbling street

Day Job Blocks, The Artist's Way, and Camille Pissarro

Wrote a few lines of poetry today, but thoughts and frustrations over my day job have been taking up too much mental space. It's the block that won't go away as long as I need it to pay the bills. It's a relief when I manage to break through, but tonight won't be one of those nights.

Regarding the book The Artist's Way, I did not realize going in that it was actually meant to be a 12-week course. So, I'm doing it. I'll finish up my first week with tomorrow's "morning pages" and then get out for a walk. When I'm done with it, I'll do a write-up here about my experience, but I doubt I'll be able to keep from mentioning it on nights like this when I just write for the sake of writing here.

I went to the library with my 4-year-old on Tuesday and left with a stack of books. The one I got for me was on 19th century impressionist painter Camille Pissarro. It contains pages of his sketches and full-color reproductions of his paintings. It's beautiful and I'm excited to do some Pissarro inspired watercolor sketches and possibly oil painting experiments in the near future.

I hope you're all well. Keep warm and be good to each other.

~Bacchus

Anxiety

Every day I want you gone more.

Detritus clouding the very air I choke upon.

Leaving me shaking without respite

    from my evening release to Monday morning.

You tyrannical despot, I can’t 

    keep carrying your empty weight

    without breaking down in decay.

I’m meant to be free these days 

    not harangued in your hazy admonishments.

How do you cling so when I fight

    from just after waking ‘til long in the night?

Go! I beg for reprieve.

I’ll open a window.

    Will you fucking leave, please?

No. I’m saturated to bone with you.

Longing for distraction, reaching for my phone,

    drawing, painting, writing this poem.

There. For a moment, 

    we’re square.

Work-A-Day

i woke as i always do

pissed washed and shaved

as is the way

and sat calmly at my desk 

to begin another day of company work

as i must

and all the while in my mind 

a persistent and barely muffled screaming

like the whistling of a kettle from down the hall

or the sound a man might make

caught in a collapsing house on fire

frantically searching through the flames and smoke

for an exit

Pennsylvania Dream

the worked hand dry cracked 

bleeds into red rust

shortened days the humming 

head bears houseward

dinner outsourced delivered

bread and cheese

a carbonated 

grain-based alcohol

shore up the mind against

dread for the day

whatever it takes

to get unconscious

counted blessings just

making the ends meet

i guess we made it

things are looking up

Resignation

in that other life

i broke the laptop on my knee

and gladly paid the postage

sending it to the company

with my letter of resignation

in this other life

i woke and opened it on my desk

allowed myself to be held hostage

too weary to take the risk

and sighed with resignation

Broke

i woke this morning with a twisted neck

my head split in two 

and went downstairs to make coffee

fingers broken

spine severed

but work had to be done

by end of business

my heart gave out

dead on my feet

same

time

tomorrow

Dreaming Of Eden

i don’t want the steady drip from corners 

of weary obtuse angles in my brain

nor pens of gridded squares on which to map 

my trajectory through space each dark day

hitching cars coughing and narrowly laned

a brief break for lunch a bored heavy nap

give me daylight brilliant windows

dancing green grasses breeze blown trees

wild blooms and a swift brook splashing

we’ll watch fireflies flashing at night

beneath prodigious domes with holes

for moon and stars to pour their light

then sleeping in your splendid arms

wrapt legs soft lips and shampooed hair

or unashamed sleepless and bare

and loved and full of care and warm

How Each Night I Prepare For War

i just want to be a dad and make art

to write poems and stories and to read

to do these simple things is all i need

but wages wage their beatings on my heart

the day’s committees dictate what i write

and maintenance of monsters that i make

is all the mental labor i can take

until at last beneath a single light

wielding pen or with my anvil easel right

i forge my mental armor long into the night

Uneven Ground

was it dark in the sight of bedlam

that shriek made stone 

that solid shadow form

shocked into surrender

like turned earth seeded

the kindly gardener ripping out weeds

gold-crowned dandelions

protective persevering nasturtiums

the medicinal mallows

now see how mild the orderly rows

ready again to produce without complaint

cultivated weight on your back

Kept Small

rather little value 

consumes the world 

yoked crippled

shoulders working 

life shortening 

wanting 

to flee

structure anger 

worthless to apologize

mundane walk to coffee

break a little free

Weekly How To Play

when the week beginning brings back

the sharp clear smell of fear of failure

the hollow hopelessness of the cycling same

you can follow or wallow or drown

you can choose to change your name 

you can switch which game you’re playing

but alone you cannot change the game