Object permanency and life…

Object permanence is
my greatest enemy;
it teases with the hope
that what I once had
remains, lingering
somewhere behind
the back of time past,
sleepless nights, empty
days, memories dancing
across a screen in my
heart; hiding from
troubles doesn’t make
them disappear, but
the love lost fades
and the only remedy
worth remembering is
I refuse to remember.

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So this is life…

Imagine a time
when all’s quiet and loud
at once,
the children’s cries
of laughter crisscrossing
the air, scattering
and careening here
and there,
bills are due, money’s not,
work’s always waiting,
sleep is fleeting,
window’s are drafty,
weather adverse,
news is bad,
oil always needs changing,
and not every I love you
can be trusted,
but all’s quiet and loud
at once
and I wouldn’t want it
any other way.

A good dinner…

The dinner went well,
tasty and sufficient –
two qualities typically
undervalued in a meal;
when the conversation
turned to conversation,
as if an interminable
debate over the meaning
of meaning, or how much
one loves love, or even
if words can be used
to say something in
words or without and
I chose to just nod at a
tasty and sufficient meal.

There Will Be a Tomorrow

Tonight there’s a soft, cool breeze
from the north;
it’s the only consolation
of this day, this week, this year;
to the north is where
the tracks run across our street,
through this city
that punishes anonymity;
freight horns blow
their passing every night at
half-past twelve,
and a factory makes
candy – that’s what is carried
along on the breeze,
the scent of chocolate,
and that means there will be
a tomorrow, there will be
another day.

Just Another Day…

Days are just days
and they don’t care,
they don’t have memories
they aren’t really they’s are they,
they don’t know it’s been
eleven years since anything
important happened
or even what important is
but this all still bothers me
because without remembering
I want today to matter
so I invest too much in it
watching it approach
and promising to return
deciding to be pouty,
making it possible to cry
because today there’s a reason.

 

All for Naught…

Alone, still and solitary
this beetle clinging effortlessly
to the brick of my garage
on a hot summer’s night;
you don’t move, even
when I wave a finger close,
no response. Nothing.
Where do you find others,
a mate, a friend even
(maybe beetles don’t
need friends, but that
would be too sad). Where
are the others beetle?
Jet black back, sleek
and fast looking but
for naught; you haven’t
budged a bit as I revisit
you hours later for no
reason but to see if
you’re still there beetle.

Disclaimer

Make no mistake,
I am not real, I am
but a fictional character,
and any resemblance
to actual persons,
living in real places,
doing true and
meaningful things,
whether living or dead,
is entirely coincidental;
I am a work of
creative imagination
for whom words,
locales, events such as
expressions of affection,
comforting phrases,
apologies, and even
promises,
are the products
literary prose
for the purpose of
entertainment and
resemblances to
real life are to be
construed
fictiously.

A Mother’s Son

When I was a boy, I was a boy
and this exasperated everyone
but my mother,
for she understood the ways of boys
and I was her third, with her own three
older brothers; her patience
was limitless,
or so I thought until I tried to become a man,
failed, but refused to admit failure
and discovered we were both navigating and
negotiating a new way together; for each
boy is alike, but boys become men differently.

Weeds of War

After each cool night
and every warm morn
dew drunk and eager to mock
my weeds are waiting for me.

From my kitchen window
across the greening lawn
they choke my fruit blooms
mocking my efforted rows.

Uncultivated, unrelenting
stubborn to their roots
I’m left to battle my nemesis
with these bare hands.

Too swiftly they recover,
too eagerly they convalesce,
and shoot past stake, pole and string
to race toward the sun.

I have failed my training,
become trapped in this war,
as Sun-Tzu mocks my ignorance
for weed is but wild-flower.

Our Once Upon a Time

In our once upon a time
we had spells to linger and
entwine our fingers in a
web as we gladly persisted
against all convenience
of freedom. Before all we
call our lives now – do you
remember – how we weren’t
always going somewhere,
and if we were it was an
adventure shared first
together? It couldn’t be
frozen in a globe for we
would have melted the
ice with our simple kisses
and giggled at the puddles
we’d made. Some languish
in idyllic moments, others
perish in pursuit of the
clarity they once perceived,
and still some have yet to
reach their paradise, but
we’ve found balanceless
pleasure holding life
loosely, refusing ire’s
gravity and rising with
love’s determination to
remember why we do.