sqWorm

desp'rate grabbing, clinging,
remove it, cast away;
no refuge here,
discarded:

I feel nothing for it.


stronger, I stand watching
worm wither, whimper,
wasting away
'fore my eyes:

and I do nothing.


I wait for it to die,
drying up the while
as it cries woe
up to me:

but I do nothing.


it squirms, struggles weakly
with its destined end,
futile its fight
against fate:

so I do nothing.


forlorn of its sole hope,
only home haven,
finds no harbor
in my sight:

for I do nothing.


gripped in the throes of death,
panic pathetic,
prostrate in pain;
soon is still:

and still I do nothing.


Finally motionless,
no stir in its form,
now starved and bled,
lies there, dead:

I watch it do nothing.

Of its insidious need,

its selfishness, greed

parasitic,

I am rid:

To do anything, now free.

struck

attraction
    crept up on me,
            unready
            unawares

struck a blow
    heavy, fatal,
            unreasonable
            irrational

pierced right through
    armor, caution,
            defenseless
            unchallenged

sent point deep,
    searing hot flesh,
            unresisted
            irresistible

wound won't mend
    but by your care,
            intensive
            unpent

So Simple

a chemical ton of bricks,
a sky of cotton batting,
a purely imagined kiss.

a layer of tiny flies hovers,
a blow to drive them off,
a moment ripe, not rotten.

a soft but dampened grass,
a couple bodies sprawled,
a gaze to lock all eyes.

a hug awkwardly parts;
a passed-up chance;
a week of regret starts.

one quarter (twenty-five)

a shiny quarter left,

making up more than half

of change I was short.


you short-changed second,

I returned for unreturned ten:

just five given when fifteen due;

can't blame you at the end of the day.


the third time back,

gave change I'd found

to make up my lack:

set atop the cashbox.

Discrete, Disgust; Disgrace?

Help me destroy what I need to not be,
smash these false constructions with a hammer for me
like poor sculpture: litter the floor of my studio-soul
with their remains, undeserving of form and space;
a waste to take it up and better dismembered.

Their fragmented eyes will look up,
shattered hands, fingers reaching out;
piecewise mouths scream, disapproving,
but objections ineffectual, they die,
last bald breath taken false as the rest.


Socially constructed, carefully designed,
the artists long since passed on, architects absent,
none present to see sordid fruits of their labors:
story-book blueprint sketch long ago laid forth
for price unknown, commissioned anonymously.

What money changed whose hands unseen?
Jingled coins silenced by sackcloth,
hands unclasped clandestine under table
passed the papers, drew the plans,
to erect romantic forms concretely.


Objectify me, fetishize me to excess,
so long as it breaks me out of marble inflexibility;
forsaking all lofty ideals, do what pleases best,
take these rigid mores in me to task
till they fail under strain of sweet sin.

After we lay atop their broken mess,
once we've done away with the remains,
scatter them as dust to the four winds;
ground to a powder we will reform them
in the image of freedom, our own.

easy to be glamorous fireworks, a sunset, aurora,
but more unseen are subtleties:

ripples of light in a water glass,

the change in the waves as they pass,

a glimmer of sun on a gloomy day,

a tree's gentle sway in a breeze,

a single cloud resembling
a hungry hungry hippo;

good photography locations
versus
good photography

a good view
versus
an interesting perspective

what happens
versus
what you do

waiting for life to happen
versus
living it to the full