Posts for June 27, 2024 (page 9)

Time to hit the road
Three days of relaxation
I’m beyond ready

Pokeweed is shading
My yellow chair on the porch
Cool, even in June sun
Rescued the chair from junk pile
Poke comes up here every year

my brain is empty
but not empty enough to 
miss a submission 

carefully curated words dive

Does the night belong to You?

i wish i could mail you this
sea. you can’t step into
a photo, let it gush and glitter
around your ankles. it’s a blue

so penetrating i almost don’t
blame Maggie Nelson for being
such a freak. i miss you.
i hate to say that and not

mean it, but this time
i do. mediterranean dusk
snuffles above the car home.
everyplace is home. i hope

you get this letter. i hope
you start to feel better. i hope
in a way we are still kids.
                     good night bunny.

oh the tyranny of completion
of the must finish  never quit
this narrowing of thought  of possibility  of life 
the constriction this creates 

give up 
find a new land  a vastness of possibility  not
found in the obstinant conformity to persevere  for which our culture is repleat

though know  an ego must fall away  it will take time  do you have it  to live
without the trappings of this faitful past self  it does not die gently
kafka said somewhere   merely being alive is blocking the way

of course not suggesting a killing  not that  but sort of  for it is obvious 
we more often than not  stick out our own leg to trip ourselves up 
not realizing the conformity to culture  nor the long arm of historied acceptability 
that has reached out to entrap us in their narrow hold

at this long awaited point in the journey I have trod  a pilgram  a wayfairer  a fool  a seeker
I find the courage   the hope   the will
I have long leaned into trusting 
spill over my head  run down my shoulders  soak through my thirsty skin suit
as I turn to say goodbye to the cloak of my ego’d ideals 
invigorated 

*adam phillips

I pine for a past life, 
the one in the desert, 
long-legged wife, 
back when we fit
comfortable loose,
we’d hike on full moon nights,
crunching mica and bits of stone,
the trail glimmering
in the moonlight 
like snake skin.

Or flicking cigarette butts
out the car window
along River Road,
new license, old jalopy,
pushing to see how far
I could go on six bucks cash,
so green I didn’t even know
the river shows a new face
at each bend.

Or standing on the front porch 
of the house on Country Lane,
my brothers and I 
banging pots on New Year’s Eve,
a ruckus to raise the dead,
yet not our tired old dad 
who snores right through it.

Ah, but here comes the scythe of now,
my short-legged wife, 
smelling vaguely of fried chicken,
standing in the office doorway
wanting to know 
how on earth 
can I not hear
our daughter crying?

 “Be,” the generative, verb imperative,
“Ve.” a contraction of have.
I just wrap their arms around “lie.”                  

                    Believe.  

No moving parts, nothing to break.
Teflon-ed to the Nth degree.
Close your eyes. Feel the squeeze.                   

                    Believe .

Ghastly little creep,
hairy horde of eyelash legs
waving ‘round the tub,
guess I’ll spare you ‘cause I know
you eat far nastier bugs.