Wednesday, September 17, 2025

LOVECRAFTIAN

It's almost unreal—
how, after a particularly 
horrific showing,

we obsessively 
ravage ourselves—
conjuring the dead 

and plumbing 
the unsympathetic
depths of the encounter—

until 
we've impossibly 
managed to dredge up

some unholy. 
tentacle-dragging, 
irrefutable cause 

who's black 
hole and absolute-
zero existence,

as evinced 
by the uncategorical 
engorgement of our dread,

we'll never 
forget, but were 
better off not knowing. 



Tuesday, September 16, 2025

THERE ARE OTHER WORLDS THAN THESE

To the sparrow 
who must have got caught 
in the grill 

of this brand new,
fully-loaded, 
midnight black Camry:

who'll speak for you now 
as the flies close in?
I suppose 

that I will—though only 
through roundabout 
questions, I'm afraid, 

whose answers can be 
felt, but they can't 
be explained. 

For instance—how  
in the world do things stay 
where we put them? 

And—is God the you
that watches you 
from deep inside your head? 

Was anything sacred 
before that word 
was invented? 

And, if nothing at all,
does that mean
everything, then? 

Monday, September 15, 2025

GOD'S EYE VIEW

It doesn't really matter 
how closely you hover—

those thick darkened riffs 
of parkland clover,

all silky with glissandi 
of tuneful morning dew, 

cannot change your 
luck for you. It's true,

that byzantine bead structure 
is a Morse code of water 

which spells the whole story 
and moral of your future—

but in order to read it
or hear how it's singing, 

you'd have to have already 
known everything.


Friday, September 12, 2025

SPIDERWEB

Gossamer 
song;

weightless 
aubade;

terse canny 
stanzas, clad in 
dew-clotted thread—

even your maker, 
her highness, 
is frightened 

by the ticklish 
recitation of this
ravishing poem, since 

she knows 
in her soul where each 
filament came from,

yet maintains 
no awareness 

of how it 
got made.

Thursday, September 11, 2025

HUMAN KINDNESS

An enigmatic  
rain puddle—
gunmetal 

gray 
as a blank-
faced cloud—

that no one 
dares step in
because 

the assurance
that it must have 
a bottom 

is only, after all, 
a milk-safe
presumption. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2025

PRACTICAL EFFECTS

Mostly, our lives 
are the portraits 
of unglamorous—

they're like movies 
that can't stop forgetting 
their own plot twists. 

Yet,
there are days 
on the set 

when the sky is a halfway-
decent watercolor, 
the distant forest 

a matte painting 
so vivid and so still 
as to border on suspicious. 

And there, 
deep in shadows 
the color of ashes, 

soundtracked 
by the lapping 
smack of water 

and the drone of bees 
far to lazy to sting, 
we can't shake the feeling 

that the air we breathe 
has been keeping 
thick secrets; 

that maybe—just maybe, 
there might be 
something to this. 

Tuesday, September 9, 2025

THE GIST

As ever, it is early 
when I start upon 
my journey, 

and the trees 
to whom I've pledged 
to listen 

lean down 
with their heavy 
burden of sleep, 

branches still filled 
with the thick 
mist of night, 

and whisper to me 
in their rustling stupor 

in a language which 
no man could ever 
hope to speak 

because there is 
no code to decipher. 
So who am I 

to render any of this, 
I wonder—let alone 
interpret?

No being could record 
such ancient words—
and really, 

no one has to try;
no living thing 

need sightread 
the wind's song, since 

deep inside, they've 
already got it 
memorized.