Scattered Bones*

In renewed provocation
It is best to say as little
As possible.

In the economy of words
There is wisdom.

There is better company
Than old wrongs
Better companions
Than old wounds.

Old wine is good ferment
But old anger distills a bitter brew.

Walk west
And I will walk east.
Or walk east
And I will walk west.
But there is no profit
In meeting in the arid land
Of old battles
In the midst of brittle
Battle-scarred
Scattered bones.

Let the dead bury their dead.
Walk away.


*How sad. How futile. How empty of merit.

Not the Man I Supposed*

The mind presses upon the past
The way winds rustle prairies
Surging
Swaying
And causing to bend
Imprecise memory.

That of which I was sure
Is challenged
In the harsh scrutiny
Of reality
In the blinding glaze
Off polar snows
Shutting fast my eyes
To ancient tales
To oral traditions of my fathers.

I am not the man I supposed.
I am, rather
The sum of the fears
Of my uncles
The price of honor
And unpaid debts of parents.

I am the product
Of my own winding paths.

I am the result
Of the intervention of my past
And the invention of my truth.


* "The unexamined life is not worth living." ~ Socrates

What You Really Wanted

I said ‘no’
And you looked at me
As though I had insulted
Your bloodline
Slandered your mother
Denigrated your father
Molested your sister.

It was a simple ‘no.’
It was a refusal
To enter into agreement
With that which
I fundamentally disagreed.

You gave me your shoulder
Pushing past me toward the door.

I watched you leave
Thinking
You are the progeny of goats
Your mother dwells in sewers
Your father mucks mule stalls
Your sister cleans the linen in brothels.

There.
I just gave you what you really wanted.

In the Weeds

We loved in the weeds
She and I
And not upon the stars
We supposed.

We groped corpses
And not bright flesh.

Our tracks
Were nothing more
Than doe prints
In late-winter snows.

We imagined our loving
Spiraling white
Brilliance.
But we were only embers
Becoming ash.

There is no good return
To regret.

Presidential Campaign 2015-16 Projection

We perch upon a fragile
Human boundary
Believing there is always
Somebody
To whom we may report
Seeking justice
To negotiate accord.

Wisdom is a purchase
Without receipt
Having no opportunity
To protest
That which not only will not
But cannot
Rectify.

We seek to protest
Unjust acts
Unkind manners
Bitter hatreds
Criminal factions
With the few who may right
Wrongs.

But, what we cannot see
From the perspective
Of our limited sight
Is that there is
In fact
No one in charge
That all sense of order
Justice
And right thinking
Is illusory.

Any appeal
Must be directed
Toward a Divine Author.

There is simply
And undeniably
No human hand
Upon the wheel
Of human affairs.

Appeal.
Scream.
March.
Protest.
Insist.
No answer is forthcoming.

The bridge is afire
The lifeboats unmanned
And the cold waves yawn
For bodies.

Nobody is in charge.

Nature abhors a vacuum.
Let us shudder to see
The one
Who pretends to fill it.

Simul Justus et Peccator

The Tower of Babel*

Man Said:
I will build a tower
Its head in the cloud.
I will make a great name
Of which to be proud.

My tower will be grand
Over all earth it will rule.
It will demonstrate my power
And all else a fool.

Earth will be in shadow
The tower's top piercing the sky.
It will exalt my name
And I never shall die.

God Said:
Your tower will crumble
And lie in the dust.
You will come to die
By your own lust.

Who will find the foundation
Of your wicked tower?
I alone am your God.
In Me only resides all power.

Power comes with obedience
And obedience from love.
You think yourself an eagle
But I will humble you as a dove.


* Genesis 11:1-9

Tombstones

Write this down:
Nothing
(With but one exception)
Is more dangerous than action.

That one exception?
Inaction.

Fear is the enemy of action.
Fear is a paper tiger
Streaming the nerves
Boiling the stomach
Dulling the mind.

Failure to rightly understand
The proper course of action
Causes the warrior
To war against himself.

How may one know
Whether it is prudent
To engage the enemy?

It is prudent
When the cost
Of not engaging
The enemy
Exceeds the cost
Of engaging.

A warrior
Knows the state
Of his situation
At all times
Allowing no margin
For much time taken
To evaluate and decide.

Extreme conflict
Is not a possibility
But a certainty.
The only variable
Is the moment
Such an event occurs.

To discover the truth
Of my counsel
You may
Count the tombstones
Of the fallen.

They Up and Left

Just a moment ago
The words were here.
They were my breakfast
Companions.
They were vivid
Had fragrance
Color
Weight
They were soft
Gentle
Even accompanied
By melody.

So, where did they go?

They were sitting right here
In the golden morning light
Resting on the table
Beside my steaming coffee
And buttered English muffin.

I tried inviting them back.
I wanted to explore a bit
See where they might take me.

They just up and left.

They were right here.
But “were” is past tense.
They no longer remain.
They are gone.
They even took the punctuation.

Constant Journey

Subatomic particles
Spin and spiral
Within every body of matter.

Atoms travel highways
Of transit
Mapping every sustaining host.

These incredibly tiny
Vehicles
Navigate the body whole.

The body whole
Negotiates
Passages of time and substance.

Even decomposition
Is energetic
In the process of reduction.

At every moment
Our universe
Expands outwardly.

Nothing about life's process
Diminishes
Slowing to a final cessation.

Everything about us
Moves
With varying speed.

That I might, somehow
Intersect
With you is improbable mystery.

Yet, everywhere
I go
I search you.

If, one day
I discover you
It will be but for the flash of an atom.

Then shall we both continue
Our travels
Until all is erased by time.

Garage Sale

Gonna have myself
A garage sale, girl.
Got plenty
To put out on the lawn.
Maybe sell my memories
Of all those nights
Holding on
From dusk to dawn.

A garage sale’s
A great idea, girl
‘Cuz I’ve got
Memories to lose.
But it’s hard to know
What to toss.
Don’t quite know
How to choose.

I could toss out
That first kiss we shared
In the cab
Of my ol’ Ford.
I remember
How my head swam
How my heart spun
How I thanked the Lord.

I'll sell the memory
Of your arms around me
Your face buried
In my chest.
That should go
For a buck or two
But that's just
An off-hand guess.

I'll discount the memory
Of the day we spent
In the woods
Loving down by the lake.
That was a sweet time
But, I’ve carried that memory
Way too long.
It’s far too painful to take.

Girl, I can’t say
Just what I’ll sell.
There’s too much
Cluttering up my heart.
You'll probably have
Your own garage sale
And have the same trouble
Knowing where to start.

I guess I’ll just sell
The whole damn lot.
Reckon it all
Needs to go.
It’s just too hard
To sort these memories out.
What happened to us
I guess I’ll never know.

Trading Laterally

The egg salad sandwich
And pickle spear
Lay on a paper plate
Within its wax paper wrap
Illumined in the shaft of light
Streaming through the deli's
Dirty window.

When I stood in line
With number in hand
I very much wanted
This delicacy.

But sitting in the molded plastic
Chair
Bolted to the floor
Before a Formica table
Near the window
With two dead flies
On the trim
I suddenly
Wanted nothing more
Than being anywhere else.

Wrapping the egg salad sandwich
And pickle spear
Back into the wrapper
I abandoned
The molded plastic
Chair
Bolted to the floor
Before a Formica table
Near the window
With two dead flies
On the trim.

Offering the sandwich
To a man with a sign
That said
Will work for food
I jumped onto a bus
With molded plastic seats
Near a dirty window
With two dead flies
On the sill
Realizing
I had traded laterally
With the exception that
I was now minus
What was probably a very good
Egg salad sandwich.

Just cut the context of two
Dead flies
And the delicious quotient rose.

There's something to be said
For removing
Dead flies
And the like
For whatever's before us to
Improve its desirability.

Perfect Freedom

Caught away
I slumbered
In angel arms
For a day and a night.

No thoughts occurred
To me.
There was no place
To run
Had I such inclination.

The sun caught me
When I fell.
The moon soothed me
Through the night.
All the light I required
Was amply provided
Until
In morning’s sweet blush
I was brought to sense
Once more
Grateful
For a season of wanderings
About a silent universe
Amid starless skies
Empty rivers
Treeless hills
And snowless peaks.

There is safety in oblivion
Mercy in absence
And perfect freedom
In the arms of angles.