DITTO

We say: "I get

the feeling," 

as if that feeling

pre-existed.

But even our most intimate,

and antique experiences,

when recollected, 

are nothing 

if not

counterfeit heirlooms—

ersatz treatises, 

newly minted. So, 

either, to god's eye,

there's no such thing 

as proper order, 

or else—come to think of it, 

probably 

it did.

AUTUMN RHYTHM

Ethereal mounds

of aromatic asters,

hardly fairly compensated 

for all that they could

(but do not) say—

for spinning 

sunlight into sugar 

all the long day

without so much as even 

honoring the urge 

to glance up at god's 

time clock, or

whistle while they work 

to pass the hours 

faster.

SIMPATICO

I'm in love 

with the way

we both get sick 

and tired 

of all the arguments

in such perfect 

synchrony 

and (who would 

believe it?)

to the

very same 

degree. 

EMPIRE OF THE POSSIBLE

In the kingdom 

where I live, excess 

is kitsch,

and sentimental expressions 

are the stuff 

of class revolt. 

On the razor-thin 

line between "why not" 

and "please don't," 

perfectly balanced, 

is built the palace 

in which I sit—

declining to throw in 

with either side 

of the divide, yet 

unassailable as king 

of my own private 

nothing.

REVELATION

Question: 

What is the difference 

between something veiled

and something given?

between concealed 

and revealed?

The answer 

is always: I'll know it 

when I see it. 

*

Betrayal 

used to be grounds 

for rebellion; 

now, 

it's pure pleasure—

a fetishization 

of that which pre-exists;

evidence, 

perhaps, that even 

moments of possibility 

are rare 

and therefore coveted 

in a time of great

recession. 

*

You say you want more proof?

Look up—

In this high-

traffic area, 

state-of-the-art

security cameras 

are always recording,

but nobody 

ever has time

to watch.

TO THE VESSEL

To the slate gray 

mug, which sports 

a faded Les Mis logo, 

resting always 

to my right on the knotty 

table by the window:

yours is a presence 

like non other in my life—

a sturdy, heavy, 

shining silence,

content to hold space 

for the voids 

in my appetites—and though 

relentlessly accommodating, 

you cannot

contain multitudes

or keep me organized—

you are pleased 

to be hollow, 

you are wholeness 

in situ—

and yet

still, you invite me each day 

to complete you. 

DECONSTRUCTION

          Thus says the Lord, "Set your house in order, 

          for you shall die; you shall not recover."

               -2 Kings 20:1

We think of our selves 

as authentic 

phenomena: 

genuine miracles, 

as opposed 

to just multiples 

of the same few 

loaves and fishes. 

But identity 

is just so much

unpaid electioneering, 

and permanence 

is housework: every day—

the dishes!