Hi, I write things. I wrote at least one of them with you in mind. Try and find it. If I did my job right, it should not be hard.

Whoever you are, know that you are not alone and we are in this together until we're not. Then, it doesn't matter anymore. The universe goes on and us along with it.

You are suffering in your own special way and for that I am sorry. Being human is a pretty tough gig when reality tends to shatter our worldview on the regular. Here's hoping that my words reflect some fractured piece and make the whole puzzle a little more put together.

Fuck the fascists and break the machine. The times are changing and so must we. The time has come to pick up the fight. Let's all band together and make things right.

The Northern Lights and a Dead Moose

The Northern Lights dance in unreachable ribbons
above the head of a dead bull moose.
Stuffed and mounted on wall of tacky pine,
positioned above a false granite hearth,
He’s forced to stared out double glazed windows
and forever watch the shifting skies,
while the winds susurrate solar cinders
and stream like a Styx of souls -
slain by excesses of encroaching sportsmen.

His tufted brown ears perk up at the howl of the huskies
but its only wire forcing form into his preserved pelt
with his thick brown fur stopping abruptly at the neck.
His killers in their regicide cared not
for the long legs that carried him thousands of miles,
nor the broad shoulders that pushed down trees,
in a passing attempt to scratch an itch,
His only crime was his broad branching antlers -
His crowning expressions of sexual prime.

His jaw is pearled with gentle round teeth
ringing a false mouth that hangs slack in mid bray.
He tries to greet the shimmering skies
to bugle forth one more call of clashing battle
as if he could rear up on hind legs and clatter his hooves
to declare this territory, “Mine!”
But that plastic mouth was molded in Texas
And mass produced into expressions of realism
speaking through acrylic gums and tongues.

His glass eyes cannot perceive the heavenly hues
as they cavort above conifers encrusted in ice.
He cannot see the silent parade of his scion,
marching by in a secreted trail known only to natives.
His great grand son following in his hoof steps
through the woods of an inherited kingdom.
In another two seasons this one too will be dead,
by a paid and pampered safari of some rich hunter,
who slept warm inside instead of looking up in wonder.

Sanctity of Morning

I ride in the sanctity of the morning,
During the swapping of the savers and the sinners,
Colored by the sun-risen pinks and purples
As this city reloads.

Landmark Erosion

What’s a Parthenon to a Persian rapist?
Or an Pantheon to a marauding papist?
A sacred site constructed in god’s will
A once timeless tomb now reclaimed landfill.
Historical heroes vying for timeless vestige
All knowing their legacy is a pointless investment.
Beneath their crowns the inkling rides
Reflected in their gilt mirrored tides
That at the end of their succession
They’re little more than a pub quiz question.

The old Khmer empires did it right.
One god king would tear down another’s might
And use the bones to build something better.
War waged and winners weathered
The new Khmer harnessed only destruction.
And can only manage gilded stuppes
And dirty waters.

Imagine all our monuments broken down.
Chipped and smelted.
Powdered an wilted.
Some new upstart with an eye for redecorating
Marching armies with standards high.

I Left It All Behind

She locked her hands on my elbow
As I packed away my chrysanthemums
I nestled their pot in a cardboard box.
And fixed stems where her thrown shoe had landed
“I can’t bring these. Customs won’t let me.”
Then softly she whispered, “Don’t go.”

She nudged the box with her big toe
She wanted them in case I might return
I said my mother wouldn’t neglect them
She promised to remember the water
But her dead soil never nourished me
Still, she sighed and cried, “Please. Don’t go.”

She reached for the box when I walked past
And said she could keep them for me.
I deferred that my mother would not neglect them.
She argued she had never killed anything.
I said she had never helped anything grow.
And, yet, she said, “Don’t go.”

I left her the sleeves of CDs
Our sounds had become too mixed.
I could not pull my rock from her pop
My Bach from her Pussy Cat Dolls
She threw them at me when she refused
And still, she said, “Don’t go.”

When I had packed my last bit of baggage,
She said she would not see me to the airport
But insisted she wanted to call me.
I turned my phone off until the plane landed
So, the first thing I heard in my new world
Was a message saying, “Don’t go.”

Coming for Us All

Life –
Passing by us all
Some try
Some fail
Some by deeds enumerated
Some by acquisitions agglomerated
Some by happy happenstance
Some because they never leave their house.
Some because they resisted touching their face.

Some because the education system worked in their favor
were taught they a basic understanding of statistics
Of those who trusted the experts making their best guesses in uncertain times.
Those are the ones who protected their families
Who put the safety of others before their summer holiday.
Stewards who suffered in a self-inflicted desert
So a few more people could live the collective dream.

I Am a Bicycle in the Rain

I am a bicycle in the rain
Everyone has given me a turn
Chains rusted
Rubbers busted
Frame still desirous
And a seat well-used

All that’s left
Are gaping holes
Wore out tires
Abandoned, locked to a parking meter

Who are you?
A bike mechanic?
With a can full of needed lube?
Here to junk me
Or make me your fixer upper?

Always,
I am rusted in the rain
Delightfully broken from all the rides

Calla

A funeral flower for a wedding
Sat in a vase atop the mantle.
Next to a stone statuette of a Bastet goddess.
A smashed picture frame
had fallen into the pit of the fireplace.
Soot smeared the white of the bride’s emulsified white dress.

Dumbly, I tried to reassemble the frame.
I tried to smooth the shards along their jagged lines.
I tried to fix the insufferable mess it had become.

“Relax.” She said to me.
“It’s just a picture.”
I looked over my shoulder and found myself alone.
The apartment had been stripped of all belongings.
The flower, the statue and the frame had remained untouched.
A sacred shrine of what was that I refused to pack.
Until the last minute.
When the land lord awaited outside for the key.

The statue of the Egyptian cat
had been brought from her childhood.
Tall and black.
It perched on its narrow haunches
And wore a regal collar of hieroglyphics.
I marvelled at why she had left it.
“Relax.” She said to me.
“It’s just something I picked up in a garage sale.”
Again, I was still alone.

The flower still smelled sweet.
It’s stark white flower curled like cupped hands.
And the jutting pistil bristled with golden flecks.
I inhaled deeply.
It smelled of her.
Even through all this,
It had never stopped blooming.
“Relax.” she said.
“It’s just a flower.”

Quarantine Day 39

I mark my wedding anniversary
that’s my most successful failure yet.
With poems and songs
That delay the inevitable mistake.
When my partner realizes
they should have never signed the paper.
That licenses lifelong disappointment
And guarantees resentment.

I mark my wedding anniversary
that’s my most successful failure yet
When old signs and unkicked habits
Stoke like pernicious coal fires
perfect for cremation.
Too much time together
Reveals that we can’t be together
And spend all our time wondering whether
Our lives were nothing more than ether.

I mark my wedding anniversary
that’s my most successful failure yet
With affection turned affliction
From isolation on borrowed time
That makes me wonder
how long will I have
love and life.

I mark my wedding anniversary
of my most successful failure yet.
A few more words to save things
A few more chances to be better
And then I will have a book full of failures
Penned for the cops to find

America May 2020

Aka rubber bullet
Aka protest day
Aka any day

A rejected hand
quickly rises up,
If we don’t address the grievances
And hide behind our privilege.
They have always been the same.
The ones we stomped on
Kept subdued
Couldn’t resist
Stay down

I felt the teargas in my eyes
Saw the people
Regardless of creed and color
The disenfranchised
The abandoned
The exploited
The slaves
The majority
The fenced in crowds
Whose ancestors we bought and sold
Who are here

All cities will burn
For they are build on unctuous bedrock
They are the tinder packed around our edifices
The ones we thought we bought
But they will rise up.
The discarded and the sick
Frustrated and angry
Righteous and rectifying
Empowered
Angry
And united

Tonight, all cities will catch fire
Not from looters and shooters
But from the angry seeking justice
Unafraid of the slave owners
Unafraid of apologetic masters
Unafraid of their neighbors
Unafraid of the masses

Lsd in the Afternoon

It was an alright day.
I bought a used wheelbarrow
There’s no rain water or chickens.
Nothing depends on a spent morning.

Trying to patch the slow hissing tire,
I give up because the whole thing is rusty and second hand.
It makes a better decoration.
A little dying Americana chique
Where pastoral dreams meet unexpected ends.

I won’t ever use it.
So I gave up and took some acid.
As I fly like a humming bird,
I realize my arms won’t ache
beneath indolent layers of sun screen.

The truth serum says I am lazy.
I lay here slathered minerals that keep away select cancers
As new ones, the unplanned demises, bloom in twisted cells.
I realize I could die here. Sudden. No safety precautions required.
There are things more fatal and exclusive than a pandemic.
There are those inevitable ends monogrammed in our honor.
A bird drops out of the air.

Its feathers suddenly inert by an explosion of its heart.
A prefabricated anomaly born out of an unlucky lottery.
It falls dead among the the pink flowers
Next to my dilapidated barrow.
As I am reminded of my own mortality
And the sunset coming for us all.