Tuesday, October 29, 2024

FALL POEM

There are afternoons 
when late October 
feels like it might stay forever;

when sunlight itself 
is enchanted by 
the unplumbed color of the season 

and seems 
to want to hang from trees 
like crystal chandeliers, 

stretched and slowed 
by the fairy tale 
of coming cold 

til it lingers 
a little too long 
in midair—

like Cinderella did 
in the opulent glare 
of such an otherworldly ball—

with no ride home 
planned, and 
for no reason at all. 


Monday, October 28, 2024

WELL, ACTUALLY

What is it that provokes 
any clean 
quiet morning 

in all its perspicacious 
stillness 

to ripple 
and dither into 
just another day? 

Is energy 
just coiled matter 

which has not yet 
unfurled itself 
and deigned to appear? 

As I ask, I notice I'm not even 
looking for the answer, 

because if there's 
one thing I know, it's that 
by the time I'm done inquiring, 

every word 
is abandoned 

like a seashell 
on eternity's shore—
everything we know 

is gradually 
something else entirely, 

without any 
reference to lesser 
or more. 


Friday, October 25, 2024

REVELATION

Apocalypse 
doesn't come 

all at once—
there are packets. 

This is not 
despondence 

any more than 
it is fact. 

For truth 
is but a parasite 

on is-ness
says the prophet;

a virus 
which preys 

upon life's need 
for correspondence. 


Thursday, October 24, 2024

PRIME MOVER

Each morning, 
I wonder 
where does it come from—

the intangible breeze 
that whispers in 
each morning 

to dissolve with its 
cool kiss the last 
of my dream logic 

and flirt 
just a bit with 
my diffident curtains? 

The uneven 
surface heating
due to elevation

which leads to 
pressure differentials 
on the far side of the planet.

But no, say my 
cold toes, that can't 
be the answer, can it? 

It's far too impersonal 
to have clambered 
through my window—and, 

to be the provocation 
that I need, 
far too certain. 


Wednesday, October 23, 2024

RANSOMWARE

Caucused 
atop the gray 
cornices at dawn, 

the silhouettes 
of crows 
argue with conviction 

the politics 
of lonesome 

as a trait 
or an affliction. 


For my purposes,
down 

at the simulation's 
street view

(not to mention 
yours 

one level lower 
as a reader), 

it doesn't matter 
if this image 

is truth 
or fiction. 

*

Incepted in 
the latest version—

a stealth software update, 
a poetic snatch 
of code inserted—

you are programmed 
to imagine
 
that things 
could be worse:

these scavenger birds 
could yet be 
upgraded—

persuaded 
to peck stars 

from the skies 
of your thoughts 

like they were the all-
seeing eyes 
of the universe. 


Tuesday, October 22, 2024

WHITE FLAGS

Desperately petaled, 
these stalwart 
fall roses, 

worn and besotted 
as the clabbered 
lumps of cloud 

which now blot 
and bleach the sky 
on an undulating basis,

soon will have 
no prouder choice 
than to laugh 

as they—and my 
conflation of security 
with stasis—

crumple in the direction 
of momentum 
and collapse. 


Monday, October 21, 2024

TERMS AND CONDITIONS

We think we've got people 
all figured out—

then, 
we get to know them. 

Narcissists, 
philanthropists,

punctilious, 
cold—all of us 

are jars 
whose lids won't open.

But of course, 
from the harsh angles 

our distance 
imposed

the first time 
we nodded,

shook hands, 
or spoke, 

so much of this 
was obvious

that we confused ourselves 
on purpose.