Programming

writing poetry
is like programming wonder
in the hearts of others

Sunset Dawn

In fading light of setting sun
Summer's end hits me like a beam,
The realization dawning upon me
Like the dayside of a sunrise
Dawning on one who watched its magic
Transform night from atop a mountain.

The young thing I watched wax from
Wee hours now wanes away from me;
Turning on my timid expectations,
Its sparse gift turns to abundant
Avarice, swiftly engulfing the earth,
Eating the infant day out from under me.

I am awakened but not consoled by
Cool mountain air breezes blowing,
Biting reminders of the pre-dawn chill.
I steel myself for the trek ahead,
As the long descent down the mountain
And into the underworld begins.

A Whisper

Was it a whisper?
Was it my name?
Did I really hear anything?

From somewhere unseen,
off to the side of my reality,
peripheral to all else I perceive.

Was it a message
or some kind of sign?
If it's happened twice?

Like someone trying to wake me
from a sleep so sound
I don't know it's sleep,

I the unwilling,
uninterrupted dreamer
remaining steadfastly asleep.

But what kind of being
could it be harassing me?
A god or a demon?

If there were gods,
would they speak to us thus,
obscurely, to no clear purpose?

Just a whisper, "mortal!",
taunting our limited minds
while controlling our lives.

Or what temptation,
what evil purpose,
could be served by such

Sideways swipes
into mundane reality
from a lower plane?

Perhaps mundane's the word:
a whisper from a minor demon,
like the Lord of dust and linoleum.

Perhaps a voice from the future,
a four-wheeled destiny
awaiting my full descent.

Or else from the past:
forgotten hospital ghosts
haunting these halls of the unhealthy,

Just looking to bum
that one last smoke
before entering the eternal ether.

Maybe it's the disembodied
voice of my bladder,
crying out in impatient agony.

Or maybe part of me knows
something the rest forgot:
don't forget to get your parking validated.

Burnt Offerings

Sometimes addiction mimics ritual and superstition,
invisible world of smoke's wispy curls
and chemical receptors that suck in like nectar
the silent substances controlling our world.

hearing you

your little voice swung,
hung from my neck,
like a tiny precious stone.
remote as a star,
bright as a beacon,
your love closed the distance
at the speed of a blink
from afar.

Gom Jabar

Oh, pain.
The pain.
Holding your hand in the gom jabar
hurts--does not harm.
It begins to burn.
We're well beyond thresholds now
and into endurance.
Learning the difference between
desiring a thing
and reaching to grasp it:
is it the pain or the fear
that kills the mind?

Jewels

jewels placed in cave-mouth

crushed as the roof collapses;

sweet juice of berries

Musings from a Twelve Hour Day

I. Shadow

Evicted from my mind,

standing outside,

I look in and see myself

doing things I'd rather

not be

  

II. Persona

No girlfriend, but a letter
from the mormons
waiting for me at home,
heathen and reality confused
in my mind and ears,
I toil in the crucible of my derision
until the last sinking sun's rays
submerge themselves
in the dark sea of night


III. Unconscious

that aquariumarine sky

bulging big and wide from my glass bowl
bejeweled with rings and a crescent;
I wheel and whir beneath it like a machine

until it stops--

Killer Bees

angry insects buzz in ears and pockets;
eager to deliver messages of peace or of anger,
of love or of business,
of care or of loss.

with unfolded wings they speak discretely,
unfalteringly flattened deliverance
condensing signals. they dance
and wave over the distances,

they signal the hive on our behalf
to save us from having to go
all the way back there ourselves,
when we're busy far afield.

trash out

bone grind
road wet
hill-climb