In a Mean Time

So many things weighing on our mind, 
We don’t need to count them

To know they’re there, we have to 
Forget about them and remember

How light-headed we get when we don’t care. 

This Too Shall Pass

Beautiful— 

The word becoming so worldly 
Obscene, exploited, wretched 
The many failing

To wonder why 
And to what use 
Hoping 

It will all come in good time. 

On the Road at Two-and-a-Half, or Blowing in the Wind Called Phaedra

Oh, I like this new game 
Of Papa’s—these strange little 
Light things he picked up 
To show me—he calls them 
Leaves—how they race along 
Where he placed them next 
To each other turning 
Over and over and me 
Running after them 
Like crazy I hope 
The one he said was mine wins. 

Truth's Like a Fly Swatter

Cross my heart, hope to die— 
It looks like they’re droppings

Of flies, the eschatological 
Ephemera of poets who swear

Their shit will last and not 
Stink to high heaven forever— 

Though from where I sit, 
It all smells a little too much

Like a downright rotten white lie. 

Silver Linings Playbook

when storm clouds scud 
your way, the sun does not 
up and check out— 
it stays there 

high above the weather, 
looking out the window 
of your world, saving 
for a rainy day. 

Ex Libris Vazambam

With all the time in the world 
At nine months short of three, 
My granddaughter tells me 
She’s going to follow 
In my footsteps and read 
All the books in my library. 

Looking back at how 
Haplessly I fell 
Short of that goal, I do hope 
She doesn’t take after me— 
For better or worse, 
Let my feat remain 

No small consolation 
I won’t be round to see. 

Faux News on the Air (In Cracker Boxes Everywhere)

No more pussyfooting round— 

(I tell you the news is right) 
There in front of you

(Inglorious color) 
And not in black,

(Just white), like 
You folks like it so 

(Get cracking, right?)

"I Found My Thrill"

I remember his 
Last words as he sped 
Down Memory Lane, 

His blueberry eyes rolled 
Back up all the way to where 
The moon stood patiently still. 

Capital Punishment, Period

When the word you need 
To finish your sentence leaves

You hanging in the air. 

House on the Hill

All that’s left is a mound of detritus— 
Barely enough to remind us it stood 
Tall and strong as the family that held

 
Sway over it, a domain now infested 
By burrowing creatures of the night— 
Let’s say blind earthworms with feelers

 
Breathing through dank skins, sensing 
Their way through the dark by gauging 
Changes in the ever-changing light. 

Watchtower

That black 

Dog that stands 
For Death has 

Two gray marks 
Round its red 

Eyes that keep 
Watch for any signs

Of life just like yours. 

Fish out of Water

Where you find out when 

The sea is only so 
Deep as the air 

You breathe in.