plays, films, stories, blog
Poetry
sometimes
when my fingers won’t move briskly
I’m in the mood but lacking whisky
the summer night is super sticky
too fast to stop, too slow for quickie
the fan blows soft at the back of my head
something I love — sweet and strong — has fled
and through the blind, and bugged pane, a tiny light
tells me nothing’s right
this is how I free up time
to make a silly, frozen rhyme
If one is lucky enough to thrive
He will, one day, reach fifty-five.
It’s just a number, nothing more
With senior discounts — galore!
Ten percent off at the Greasy Spoon
Every Monday and Tuesday afternoon!
Buy two coffees, get one free
(Also available for hot or iced tea).
Celebrate celebrate celebrate!
Five dollars off at Motel 8!
And if all that doesn’t win the day
Medicare is just a few years away…
Such a birthday might not be funny
Without saving all that money.
in every place that holds a comb
a toothbrush
a roll of tape
or even grapes newly washed
a person takes a stand
hears the sounds of the night
a bird way out there
calls another
over there
way over there
lets me hear
the conversation
one of them shouts the steady talk
the other answers
a quick chirp
just enough to validate
both together tell me
that if I empty out
what’s inside
all the earthy material
in my gut
their calls can heal anything
fractions blow my mind
like one half of a blow
or two thirds of a mind
make how many hearts?
who knows
who cares
after all
it’s just division
taking a thing
and slicing it into parts
so that each new thing
is a new thing
and the whole thing
no longer exists
isn’t this why the heart
is part of the mind
is part of the whole
nothing to do with blood
or skin or tissue but
something else that
reaches out and gets real
only in the eye
of another
water finds a space
wherever it goes
in this body
or outside it
even in fire
if you listen hard
you can hear
the water leaving
like something from
another life
another place
that is just like this place
but disappearing
these are the things
we think we want
we think we are looking for
we think might have
