NOW AND THEN

There

at the cinched severe 

center of the hourglass—

where nothing 

is pent-up 

but all is interposed;

after thought goes 

but before feeling 

has arrived;

where one 

might well find, 

(if one were so inclined)

just one grain of time 

which is neither cached 

nor spent—

there is the best

speck of proof 

you will find—

compellingly weightless,

exquisitely benign—

of the sustenance 

many call intelligent 

design. 

THE AGNOSTIC

You would grant that 

there's a plane 

through which 

all things intersect—

it's just 

foreign as heaven 

to a deep sea fish. 

But make a wish 

and listen: does the answer 

form a question?

Is your notion of god

like a hermit crab shell—

an awkward and 

abandoned vessel?

In that case, hold it close 

and listen; you are 

bound to hear the ocean. 

MISADVENTURE

Grim scythe 

of morning by the rain-

bedeviled shore

where wet fat crows sift 

through the mist,

spearing worms

and take turns defying,

with each hoarse

craggy laugh,

the baggy nets cast 

by my best 

metaphors. 

WRITING AS A DISCIPLINE

Notice how,

day after day, the blue 

waterfall of dawn 

fearlessly 

moves to drown 

the nonpareil moon:

there is neither sorrow 

nor jubilation 

in the action—

just the dutiful execution 

of each peerless 

new tomorrow. 

GEDANKENEXPERIMENT

To a waveparticle of light 

there is no big picture;

there's 

no such thing 

as later, 

no such 

thing as night. 

It that sense, 

each photon is pure 

excitation; 

as a matter of course, 

it must exist 

in a permanent 

present, whatever 

the cost. 

There is no domain 

where it ought 

not to travel; 

where it goes is 

where it is, so 

it cannot be lost. 

In short, it composes 

the world through 

which it hurtles—

kind of like 

this thought. 

SUNK COST

Our low-key

favorite 

thing about these bodies 

is their penchant 

for falling 

far short of their ideal. 

This fetish 

for the defect—this hell 

of the self—

this giddy-

thrilled refusal 

to feel what we most need 

may seem 

like a torment—

like a bad poker hand—

but we see it 

as a palmed ace, 

as a check not yet cashed. 

This hectic grace, 

this restlessness 

is an interest 

which pays compounding 

dividends the longer 

we invest;

it's the reason 

we buy in 

again and again—

even after

the market has 

already crashed.

PROGNOSIS

In the age 

of mechanical 

reproduction, 

consumers 

will function 

as the artists

and all those 

who dine upon 

these words 

shall be granted 

the might of an 

author intervening.

A bottled rich 

umami flavor 

overtakes the palate;

information 

saturates—suffocates 

the meaning.