Posts for June 6, 2022


The Drop-Out’s Lament


Some days he likes to think.

No, really,

he enjoys it the way other folks

like looking at the sunlight that comes through the leaves.

Trouble is it gets in the way,

that thinking,

of timelines, y’know?,

and of syllabi, too,

not to mention his grade-point,

until the list of F’s and Incompletes is,



or at least it seems that way to the shame inducing critic,


the one who lives inside his heart



he just drops out


and only feels the tiniest twinge of pride when they call him



Last time it happened they were talking “Thou Shouldst”.


“What ‘Thou Shouldsts’ were you born to?

And what ‘Thou Shouldsts’ have you fled?

And what “Thou Shouldsts” are birthing themselves

through what you think is you now?”


That’s what the person in power,

the one at the front of the room,

was asking,

and that’s when our hero went home

or at least he went away.


Sometime later

after the timeline expired and the syllabus had died,

he woke up in the hour before dawn

and wrote this:


“It’s odd how I’ve resisted doing this assignment.

Oh, well.

Here goes: ​


“Thou shouldst

always lie to your enemy—

If you don’t, how the hell can you win?


“Thou shouldst

always vote for yourself, even if the other peep is better suited

and also much more deserving—

I mean if you don’t vote for yourself, who the hell do you think will?


“Thou shouldst

have ambitions beyond the pail and do what you can to fulfill them—Otherwise what are you worth?


“Thou shouldst

do what you’re told, as in ‘love your country or leave it’—

If you don’t, you’re just another traitor who ought to be shot on sight.


“And those,” he wrote,

“are just some of the ones I’ve rejected

or altered

during Time’s too twisted passage.


“Ones I live by? Try these:


“Thou shouldst give credit where credit is due—

I mean there’s always something the other peeps do

as well as or better than you.


“Thou shouldst work your ass off to understand

even if sometimes it hurts like hell

that honesty is not only the best,

but the most healing policy, too.


“Thou shouldst learn to fight like Gandhi—

See the book of a similar name.


“Thou shouldst be kind,



when your trauma kicks in and even then

thou shouldst go back later

to kindly explain what happened.


“Born anew each day

like a baby

that may or may not

live all the way through the night?


“Well, those’d be Values, I guess.

There’s Equity.


And Intersectionality (That’d be connecting the dots).

Honesty (even in the face of danger or, you know, whatever).

Community (with loved ones and other ones, too).

Maybe honest and open Vulnerability

and that certain kindly kind of Kindness

that reaches both in and out

in search of some kind of


ambiguous truth

that can birth both reconciliation

and what Grandpa Ferlinghetti called

‘a new rebirth of wonder’.



of course,

Dancing the Dance is a value,

as is The Kind of Laughter that Heals.”


And that’s when he curled up there in his bed

like an overgrown fetal ball.


He most certainly did.



that’s when he started crying.






Game Day

Dark turbulent sky
chased away chance
led others to safety 
the suite sweet seats
food aplenty
What’s left here?
a brooding mood
sour at the drip drops,
suggesting rest,
trickling “tomorrow”


June Rain

No need to water the garden today.
The hot sticky humid afternoon 
collected itself into bulbous white 
cumulus clouds surrounding us with their 
impending saturation of cooling droplets. 
I can almost hear the sound of my tomatoes,
beans and squash,  drinking in the sustenance. 




I live for the moments on TV
that coax soft smiles
and casual chuckles from the audience. 
Not the moments that make you 
sob with emotion
or double over with laughter,
but the subtle ones
that feel as though they are taken
directly from my own life.



There is a flood
that rises abruptly
from the back of my tongue
that twinge
that hangs over the edge
of that bottomless ravine
that lay on the cuspe
of scabbed over gape
that never seems to heal.
It rises and plummets in my chest
to the lump in my throat
where the air lay vapor-locked
dry and thick
can’t be swallowed down 
no matter how many times
you try
but if you can just hold your breath
long enough to greet the black
You’ll gladly welcome it, 
Just fade right into it. 


This dirty room

this room is my safe space 
pride flags and rainbows in every corner 
drawers full of makeup i paid way too much money for 
more clothes than any one person could ever need – 
though i only seem to rotate through the same five outfits 

i’ve lived in this room a mere 6 months 
as of two weeks ago I can say it has more furniture than just a mattress

now i have a place
not in bed or on the floor 
to work on the art i force myself to create 
to pass as a productive member of society 
and while i’m glad
it finally looks like someone belongs here, 
it still feels cold 
and lonely 

dirty simply because i exist here
my depression and anxiety drip from the ceiling 
dirty water 
pooling in small areas throughout the room
staining everything 
behind the dresser
below the television stand 
even on the desk 

the liquid forces me to second guess if writing is a good idea 
i can’t risk damaging my computer 
maybe it’s best if i don’t write tonight 
or the next day 


Humid Monday

It seems like everywhere
I look today, I see the shape
Of a duck

Some other shapes I enjoy:
Dragon scales
My 1930s bathtub
The letter L
The number 3

What am I feeling right now?
A light breeze on the bottom of my foot
A sickly shudder at the fragility of life
Sunbeams burning behind hot clouds
A wooden board duct taped to my forehead

I’m wondering if A.I. will ever be conscious
If mystery is crucial, or desire.
Can I really love without knowing desire?
Can I desire without needs?
Can I need without mystery?
And what is a choice without consequences?
What is inspiration, but blindness to logic?
And what is it that moves me, that makes me cry with joy?
Can I be conscious without joy?
Are you really experiencing anything through VR? Or is it just reminding you of real experience?
Am I really so weird for sitting outside at night, just to look at stars and feel other’s pain and joy?


Paradoxes For Dinner

I am
the antagonist of my own story.
I am
the fatal flaw.
I am
the great journey that leads to nowhere.
I am
the sun behind the clouds,
fighting to brighten the sky
but only illuminating the grey.

I am
all of these things,
but still,

I am
the pink in the early dawn
before the light consumes the dark.
I am
the warm breath that
caresses the place
between your shoulders.
I am
the smoke you inhale in your lungs
until you breathe me out with a
of contentment.

I am
all of these things,
but still,

I am


golden love

what is the deepest desire of my heart?
to love and be loved

like dew drops kissing
golden meadow flowers
after all,
spring is the gentlest of seasons.


Ouch Haiku


        Damn those ground hornets
  Whirlwind of buzz & yellow
            Dive bomb my ankle