stand back

your sighing unnerves me
your rigid self-righteousness
deserves less than this petty
panting of barely arousal

I cling to hope even now
yet you strum strings of a
gilded broken saz that says
so much more about you than me

let us play this safe and sure
remove your wandering fingers
from my trembling hand
and stand back another pace or two

or a thousand more



winter wraps its quiet calm
ruthlessly around my heart
dragging me out of the night

desiccated blossoms droop
dripping hopeless tears
in the harsh morning light

why awaken at all I ask
when the fools around me
still to these insanities cling

why step forth at all, my friends
when these furious voices
praising a pathetic tyrant do sing

my soul from birth dreamily
drawing on hope and light
to the seas longed to embark

but in the midst of this shameful
display of ignorance and hatred
I find I now prefer the dark

the view from my window this morning

before the sirens fade

Before the sirens fade and the last drop dries,
the flies have commenced their gruesome task
insatiable zealots relishing their latest meal.
The cloud of confusion and righteous anger
hovering over the street slowly settles,
a bitter shroud clinging to bloody flesh.
Yellow tape snakes its way around the scene,
feeble yet efficient. No one ventures beyond.
No one would dare.
On the other side, people moan, demand, swear,
and eventually make their way home.
The next day or the next, the propaganda will be recycled,
as bodies are examined, identified, and laid to rest.
Sweepers will sanitize the path you tread,
and the traffic will return, passing unaware.
What would you expect? This is how you survive,
not so much clinging to life as pursuing it.
And my student asks me if I honestly think
he should buy the newest iPhone or Galaxy.
Let me think about it.


this flight of fancy
fickle though it may be
defines so very nearly you

your angry urges
these too petulant dirges
merging strident anger and sorrow

your private passions
madly dancing like demons
with sweet voices and torn skin

how little did i know
this damning demanding you
cruelly cursing and ever dismissive

how foolish my ambitions
despair masquerading as hope
my soul loping across brittle decay

this night be ended
bending briefly and repentent
to claw this clay into most fecund dust

Dead Horse Point

Dead Horse Point, Utah