*after Ram Dass
if and when
the end
arrives
and i
suppose
it must
we might
begin to
realize
it was
always
us
we might
whirl like
dervishes
dis
integrate
to dust
but still
will mingle
in mid air,
loose ions
in magnetic
thrust
if we
could only
trust
the uni
verse
just
enough
to whisper
soft
those
words,
then we,
dangling
on rapture’s
cusp,
might walk
arm and arm
into that dusk
Antarctica is a barren, icy Friday with very little phone, fierce sleep, and the manufacturing temperatures on Earth.
There is no such thing as enough.
There is only too much.
You plant a small hill
the seeds sprout as you sleep.
Next morning vines embrace the garden
leaves open like beach umbrellas.
Tiny green fingers turn to boats
before you can pick them.
You begin to pray that deer
will invade, that birds will develop
a taste for them, but they want only
the strawberries, the tender corn.
You finally admit there is not enough flour
in the world to bake all that zucchini bread.
The last will be tossed with lawn
clippings and fall leaves to feed
next year’s garden, when despite
experience, you will plant zucchini.
candle extinguished
before its radience
never triumphed
morbid demise
Now, Lorca stands
embronzed in Madrid
Plaza de Santa Ana
releasing a lark
rising into morning
never to take flght
only a ribbon
of smoke arises
At times I feel like the I. M. Pei of bullshit
Saccharine or Splenda radio symphonettes
aural button click that allows delusion
to spread like mushrooms across
the decaying forest floor
of declining minds.
Retail helps us homogenize
any form of originality
from the hottest of topics
to the land’s end. We dash
to doors to collect new stuff.
[Greed Lust Sloth Envy]
[Pride Wrath Gluttony]
America returns
back to the basics.
