Light-years

The mid-September moon
rests its heavyset bulb over in the West,
while the new days sun
stirs behind the
Eastern shoulders.

The sky mixed the lights
just so-

-no conclusions could be made
mid-stroke.

What feels inexplicably
right about certain alignments
gives us false hope
that the observer ultimately
affects changes.

There is more in a moment
to grasp
than our primal hands
can hold onto.

The season changes
its mind-
even if,
the movements
were always the same

-the differences became too small
to notice
the rate of spin
unravels
in astronomical units.


Painting by George Hemming Mason, 'Harvest Moon' , c.1872.

May I borrow your skill-set?

She still looks at me
that way,
One day...

Take it in while you can.
I have always felt this
slipping away...

Passive-aggressive is oxymoronic,
aren't we all
both (hyphenated)?

Having the Midas Touch is not
the same as Pyrokinesis
but ignites a similar spark.

We never have any-
thing for long
enough to use the words;
Forever, Eternal, Always...

Things come and go
and its lightening to know
it has all
been done
before.

She still tries
to change
her outcome
by crossing lines
and parting ways.

No effort is wasted
judging
by the time it takes
to reach a point
of no return.



Painting by William Moore Davis [Public domain].

Costdom

Like seat assignments and maximum capacities,
for safety and simplicity sake,
there must be reasonable accommodations made
so there is sufficient room
for growth
without
hitting the ceiling, too soon, bursting through
and considered too metamorphic
to remain in your designated space.

It is a default
mode of ours
to do first
before
we did anything
that could be our fault.
So we don't...

There is no way to go back or over
without losing something in front of you.

Stay in line. Stay home. Go online.
Pretend to be anonymous and famous.
Pretend is what we do before we know
how to be.

If you move around too much it scares people,
they will call you a gypsy,
as if they could catch that curse.

Freedom never is
expensive,
and always costs more
than we carry with us.





Painting by Louis-Marie Baader, c. 1885 in [Public domain].

On Spinal Tap

Books talk together.
I have heard this.
You have too.
You see,
amidst sentences
not (in) between
each other but by reference
to me, not of
but For…
autobiography,
the stories write themselves
into serials.

Footnotes are added at the end.
All the words are the same
type-set in New Order.

Of course,
it has all been said before,
and yet
it seems as if nobody is really
on the same page,
or reads
between the lines,
between covers
under the sheets
on the walls.

How we prop up
the spines
tells more
of our posture
than the Titles
given.
What can be
gleaned from our
rough-deckled edges?



Painting by Giuseppe Crespi, c. 1725 in [Public domain].

Post: Meridian

What happens at night
to the air?
What is this
chemical cocktail
we absorb through osmosis,
take in-minus the photons
that cause thoughts to
sink
so heavily
and their intentions
stand so tall?

In this darkness,
we witness,
the end of days
and feel time
reeling
felt more forcibly by
the ever-changing set of
constellations that arise
in our latitude, or even-more
so by the
nocturnal notions as in
phases of the moon making
destinations
always
revolve around us.

By blending into
these dim hues,
our blue veins
resemble the Empyrean skies or the
dirty paint water in a glass jar,
wherein, all
blends, naturally
together to visit the heart.
This is all right.
It is only a subtle shift
in tone and pressure.
The blood always finds its
dew point.

These feelings will all
evaporate
with the sun-
rise.


Painting by Edwin Henry Landseer, 'A scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream' c. 1848-1851 in  [Public domain].

Fluent in Word Play

A really good poem smells like a newly printed book to me.
Buying the book doesn't mean you own it. Ingesting is not understanding.
Being really good at doing nothing important does not make it important or good.
Money is made-from paper and metal only, the (inte)rest is in your mind.
Homes are made of metal, plaster and wood-sometimes glass.
Ideas are like soap bubbles, even after they pop they leave a residue.
Just because we may be contacted by cell phone at any time,
it does not require our immediate consent to be touched
-at any time.
Being able to tolerate the rutted steps and familiar roads of nostalgia and slanted memory,
is a flexing of ones Love muscles.
When tossed freely, Patience is a boomerang.
Assholes only make it as far as they can see.
Angels exist to remind us, that we too can be seen thru.
Emotions and weather pass.
Cynicism is simply hope masked with fear.
No worries, I should have the next epiphany by noon.
Literally, how many ways can we say what we mean without meaning something else?
Off the grid does not mean we are unplottable.
The climax always involves us.
If we are entertained, there is no time wasted.
Boredom is the opposite of Happiness, both are vagabond.
Endurance happens over a duration.
Climate change was always a thing,
should we be calling it something else like
Whether weather or whether or not weather records exist?
We were all born liars. We all learned how to walk by falling down, repeatedly.
There is no Privacy in Russia, there is no future tense in Germany,
Americans have coined the Economy, liberally donating interest-free anxiety to All.
There are trees to fall, there is pulp to be extracted, ink to stain our white sheets
and plenty of glue to put it all back together again.
Metaphors are bridges, some burn, and many more
build a new path we could never cross without.
Book burning could have been an act of spontaneous combustion
by poetic ignition.
The smell of burning wood is comforting, despite its dangerous proximity
under our nose.



Painting by Thomas Hart Benton, 'People of Chilmark' 1920 in [Public domain].

Run-on sentences

Keep reading as if the book

were a bible-
Take it with you,

I plea-

You can fit in

a few new affirmations

now and then-

Other currency

is needed

to retain

value.

I beg you
to commit
to memory
the lines,
(psalms)
that will save you
from having to make
up endings.




Artwork credited by William Etty, in National Gallery of Art [CC0], Public Domain.