Like waves that break before they meet the shore, And fruit that’s plucked before the ripening; Like sonnet on iambic feet before It finds a body clear thought may bring; Like baking what’s inadequately kneaded, And tea that’s poured before the brewing’s done; Like junk a certain president has tweeted, And clothes pulled off the line still needing sun; Like words divorced of all humility Adorning an apologetic breath, And souls that think they know infinity Before they even cross the bridge of death. I think it is a bit like all of that: Insipid, dried up, bodiless and flat.
I’ve got no words to say I have no song to sing Just full of emptiness In spite of everything Now there’s a name like honey That lingers on my breath To sweeten my pathetic Remembrances of death I rush to stop the rushing It’s time I slowed up now My plans will gather slowly Altogether like a cloud I know the rains will come Just when the time is right Till then I’ll work and wait Everything will be all right I’ve got no words to say I have no song to sing Everything will be all right Everything Everything
Of all the cars that make this train I had to pick the one With broken air conditioning Beneath a gloating sun. The car feels like a furnace now, The window’s out of bounds Though all this heat must surely beat Emergencies around. It’s true we’re free to leave this car And amble over where The air is cooler than the folks Who don’t see that it’s there. But here among the grumbling few Inertia is king; We sit and fume and fret to feel The perspiration spring. On brows we thought reserved for palms And wrinkles wrought in lead By hands advancing time reminding us That Tuesday’s dead. But there’s a hidden mercy here That warns a heedless heart, One wont to stay when wisdom lies In choosing to depart.
Awakening to sounds of foremost light I feel the stories tear into my soul Of someplace where the sun fell on the night To vaporize a family once whole. I see their faces turned up to the sky And wonder if they ever wore a smile, Or had they even watched another die Yet never thinking they would. All the while The images of death and grieving drain The little melatonin left in me Until these deals of Prime Day turn my brain Away from where my heart would rather be. If only there were great discounts for peace, We’d know the real meaning of increase.
This night is so dark or have I gone blind I falter and fall left my senses behind I’m drunk on the spirits that flow through my mind This city is covered in thorn I stumble through streets of every light cast shadows of sin on this carpet of night I taste every sample of tasteless delight And die wishing I were not born I turn into Crescent And look down the lane I see many doors there’s one that looks plain I fall to my knees and I wince from the pain this journey has brought me I’m torn I crawl very slowly up into the moon Its light is so pleasant Wish it won’t go soon I feel so much better My hope’s in this June I’m through, now I wait for the morn
Twelve-year-old drew this segment of our bedroom’s prairie-facing wall with incredible ease. I’ve got to get kid into an art class. And yes, I had to write something to mark the effort. Stain glass bowl By itself Sitting on The bookcase shelf Flanked by drapes Aegean blue Sheers white All watching you Draw them Shut