dangling threads – September 9


our swagger fails
in the flood
of whatever

so closely
is the veneer
of our powers

we pull
the dangling thread
on this side,
and watch
the other sleeve


it’s all connected.
more subtly and
that we imagined.

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voiding – August 28


the dog licks himself,
I tap words onto
a screen

both of us voiding
the overages
of our day.

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agingness – August 19


behind my eyes

as a process

fending off
the trade winds

of time.

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the squirrels are running – August 15

8.15.2017 [the squirrels are running]

the squirrels are
but specific branches
are moving
fifty foot up
in those trees
and there’s
no wind.

they prance
in a chase of
of passion
or anger
or play.

that’s the part
that’s hard
to distinguish,

but this we

that there’s
up there

and it’s

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why did you take my daddy – August 8

8.6.2017 [why did you take my daddy]

why did you take
my daddy away.

at age two he could
now talk and ask.
six months earlier
I had to tell him and
his family that dad
would never be
coming home again.

I kept the details to myself;
that he’d blown off half
his face with a shotgun
in the field,
and how I went
into shock
when I had to identify
what was left of him
at the morgue.

I work for God,
I told him, I’m not
God. but neither God
nor I took your daddy.
Your daddy decided
to go. And God is
taking care of him
now, for when the
two of you will
see each other
again. someday
in heaven.

those who say
that people will be
better off without them,
don’t have a clue.

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adorable – July 26

7.26.2017 [adorable]

she swings her leg
like a pendulum
of love

standing with
one leg propped
on the counter

all unawares
of how adorable
she looks.

such a good deal
that I get to call her

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callings – July 25

7.25.2017 [calling]

a memory itches at my mind
pulls, calls, reaches out.
a young man,
sitting beside a pond
an edge of green
trees moving out
ahead to a point.

and to his right a bay less
traveled where a
younger boy will call for
his father
because a large old bass
has taken his simple bobber
and string hook and is tugging
him out into the deep.

the young man is looking.
across to the empty shore
where tubercular
patients of times past
waited in their
sanitarium barracks
for the fresh airs to
cure their despair.

the boy’s reflection,
attentive openness,
calls to me and gestures.
come closer
I have something to tell you.
come here.

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