Driving to Nashville
With my eighteen year old girl    
To start next chapters 

hard work
plus risk
will more than balance out in the end, right?
     I reassure myself the hundredth time
          message to self: you have been letting go for years
                                          now is the time, finally
joy comes in the morning and it’s not quite 8am

Stanley was the best choice–
he knew how to frame a shot
with staging and lighting that 
gave sweep and power to 
the scene

propaganda films had been
around since 1898, but 
this one must be perfect–
the planning was thorough,
with military oversight
and
threats of what would happen
if the shoot failed

it succeeded–
for a time–
it was inevitable
that people would figure 
it out, eventually

the first domino
would fall and 
the Kingdom of Lies
would begin to be 
visible, behind the 
veil

Solution: create
technology to make
convincing videos,
in full color, high-definition 
picture and sound
that are completely fake,
but that promote
The Lie

After all, some
refuse to believe
in God because they
haven’t seen Him,
yet believe, with all their heart, that 
Brad Pitt exists, and they ain’t
seen him either–
sounds ridiculous?

easy pickings

it’s all part of the plan–
trust what we place
in front of your eyes,
rather than yourself,
your family, your neighbors

stay in line and
stay quiet and remain
obedient–
the military oversight
never ended

Everyone should exercise empathy
Many can still learn the ability
Perspective is another’s worldly views
Ability to walk in someone’s shoes
Take a look at the events from their eyes
Helping others can create stronger ties
Your choice to do so can change countless lives

You are so fair, peregrine –
so fierce and so fair.
How the rugged scent
of the hawthorn fills the air.

I once bloomed out of nothing,
out of twigs the weaver wove.
I was one with the dark falcon.
I was one with the white grove.

All eternity was mine
to watch a wet stamen’s curve.
I could hear seedlings whisper
inside the swollen earth.

Now I have a home and this
secret world is so remote.
How the hawthorn scent
scratches at my throat.

How you’re flying, peregrine,
just sweeping ahead.
Now you’re dark, now mottled,
now you’re rusty red.

Your shadow cuts clean
across the bare hill.

I am the white grove.
I am the peregrine.

A single firefly
races across the black canvas
that every summer,
every summer until this one,
was splattered in light.

I have never seen a lightning bug
move so fast. I want to catch him,
carefully, in a closed cradle of palms,
carry him. We’ll go together
while there’s still time,
if there’s still time,
find the others.

all the adders

I talk in my sleep
but being deaf   
                            I write it down
to hear                                
I make                     a list                   
                                  of what            
                                  exists  

but right now don’t believe it         

                        &  

when a feller
don’t believe             his list                                 
                                     of what                                 
                                     exists    

there isn’t much to talk about    

Berserkers destroy each other on screen and the crowd goes off like rockets and the ball soars over the moon, but the moon has gone somewhere quiet where she can hang out with tall pines and I turn down the volume but the vibes are still insane so I escape outside where my team isn’t losing and there…and there…
Jupitor and Venus are putting on a sky show like the lights of Madison Square Garden and fireflies… and fireflies… rise and rise and rise …in the silent night.

wired for war
our dna betrays us
and yet…we dance

monarda
bad hair day –
redeemed