Hope Dies Last

You get up 
Every day hoping 
It won’t be your last 
And you go to bed wishing 
It had been. 

The Methuselah Code

To read the signs 
Of the times correctly 
And to write at least 

One word a day remains 
No small feat providing you 
Reach a thousand. 

Waiting for the Coroner's Report (A Greek Proverb for Our Times)

In the meantime, 

In the house of the hanged man, 
Nobody brings up the subject 

Of a rope. 

Virtuoso

Think before you leap— 
With each vaunting 
Step you take, this

Star-studded universe 
You were born into wants 
Nothing better than to cradle you

Back down 
To earth to dream to sleep. 

Web

The spider sees bliss 
Approaching in the eye 

Of an immobile fly. 


 

Write-off

No matter how quickly 
They might have been

Executed, poems should 
Always be read out loud

Slowly—one never knows how 
Much breath has been

Wasted already. 

That Exquisite Clearing House, The Mind of 'Murica

Where you come out 
Of a forest full 

Of burning mind- 
Blowing questions only 

To find out 
You can’t see any 

Reason to ask for more.