Until it Doesn’t

I can’t decide if the smartest or stupidest thing anyone has said to me today is “It isn’t a problem until it is.” It’s not wrong exactly, more like so right that it’s meaningless; a frozen thermometer or most of philosophy. Everything means something...

The Things We Orbit

steady glow of the moon
veiled by clouds of tonight
you are how I feel

do you even notice us crowded poets
slaving to describe you
in ways abstract and beautiful
so recent our arrival
and the vapors of our ecosystem
not the only clouds
over our heads
we too go largely unnoticed
except by the things we orbit
the universe is us
and let us never forget
as we pen our sonnets about the stars
that beautiful as the night is
between the clouds
there is even more starlight during the day
although it too
must sometimes struggle
through the clouds

 

 

 

 

The Produce Sections of America

A crudely drawn map of the western US with a trail of crossed-off cities, drawn inside the cover of a book by Faust, which sits on the seat of a car.

Photos credit Wikipedia:Foto H.-P.Haack and Unsplash.com

Every time the phone rings it’s time to pack up
and go to a new city.
Everything I own goes into a duffel bag;
a couple of changes of clothes,
a can opener,
some matches,
a flashlight and batteries,
and the copy of Faust
that I’m perpetually almost finished reading.
Then it’s time to hit the road
for anywhere
that the phone isn’t ringing.

For my twenty sixth birthday
I wished for more time to read
and fourteen days later
I awoke to find
I was the only person left.
It wasn’t that everyone was dead
or at least the bodies weren’t lying around
but rather everything was still
and quiet
and they were all gone.