Some days my normal tasks feel 
like five alarm fires to my brain. 
I am walking to the corner store,
or I am being hunted for sport. 

When I bravely venture out, my cheap
foam sandals thwack and suck 
the entire way, clinging in the spaces
between me, and the sweating sidewalk. 

There’s little resolution here. 
The universe guides my way,
path paved with dingy florescence,
Arizona Iced Tea, tacky seasonal
goods, and eccentric flavors of chips. 

I do make it to the Walgreens, 
but it will be something else tomorrow. 

Pounding on my skull
In an attempt to get out 
Pills can’t help me now

Little bird
Deep dark eyes
May I give you 
Courage and strength

To survive the storms
May your heart be steadfast
May you go forward
To know love and joy

we wish not to settle into the ease and rest of the upcoming chill
the upcoming death of spring, the loss of light that was summer
for fear that easing into rest, we will become more aware
of what we’ve tried to hide
of what we tried to push down
into the recesses of our souls
through action, we forget our pain
through movement, we forget our sorrow
through constant busyness of mind, we forget our grief
they tell us to settle and soften and make space to care for ourselves
we neglect those words and guidance
for fear that we will have to rehash
all that we’ve buried away
but with softness and space we learn not to fear the things
that we feel
but we allow them a momentary flicker in the fires that still burn
before the darkness of fall nights turn the sky purple
bring crisp chill to the air that allows us the time to reflect
on what we tried to let go before we were ready
what if the death of fall is the last little bit of life we give
to those experiences before we can truly let it fall from the trees
like orange leaves onto frostbitten plates of grass
taking its final rest before eventually moving
on and its own time

“Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

So I had this, like
awakening
or whatever.
And now I’m principled.

And I want you to know, I saw you.
I saw you and did nothing.

It was around 2 p.m. on a Saturday in June.
Not an outrageous time for a drink, not in times like these,
plus the sun was out and the breeze was nice.
You were on a sidewalk — not brunching on Limestone
traffic blowing by — you were hunched in the dark doorway of a shuttered business.
You were staring. 

I saw you and did nothing.
You were staring at two bottles, a 20 ounce of Mountain Dew and
a fifth of vodka. Peggy Olson says vodka and Mountain Dew isn’t a cocktail, it’s an emergency. I saw the look in your eyes and recognized it, remembered it, felt it.

I saw what would happen next. 

I saw what you saw, and the emergency is everywhere.
And from this particular vantage–
chasing Dark Eyes Vodka with Mountain Dew makes as much sense as anything else.

I saw you and did nothing. Next time,
if you’re still around for a next time,
I’ll see you and 

i’ve never
been much of
a fighter.
never been the champion
of the world,
with a lightning quick jab,
and a counter right
to knock them all out.
i’ve never
been a killer.
with nerves
made of steel,
unfeeling
and unflinching,
in the bloodshed
and horrors I could cause.
i’ve never
been a Don Juan.
a suave libertine,
with a million lovers,
and a billion ex lovers.
for whom the thought
or memory of me
is enough to leave their bodies
quaking and trembling.
instead all i’ve been
is myself,
and i guess
to you,
that is more than enough. 

Two weeks in Italy
should not be therapy,
but it is. 

Vacation cannot be
substitute for true remedy,
but it is. 

Two weeks free
of this phone, chaining me
to stress, to worry, to trouble,
should not be the solution
to my soul’s dissolution,
but I’ll happily stay in this bubble. 

Upon journey’s end,
my true work will begin.
This is not real life; I know this.
but now there’s the scent of heaven from the breeze
through groves of fragrant lemon trees.
This is not real life, but it IS.

clover honey sticks tongue to teeth
a metaphorical promised land
pouring from mind to mouth
never emerging

shorelines crash over emptiness
seas drained of their contents
splitting from dawn to dusk
endlessly deserting

You graze freely, with your ears always perked
Ready for something to make movement
The flowers engulfing your hooves
White as your tail
You look so magical, so free
So peaceful in the little backyard
Of the woman which whom lost her partner recently,
She’s in her nineties
She moved back in with her kid
I wonder if you were friends
If she sat and watched on her porch
Like I am next door
If she left a few things behind in the garden,
So you had a full belly,
Now I don’t know much about you
But you looked to be carrying precious cargo,
And how fearful you looked when you first saw me
But I took quiet steps
And spoke softly
I’m not sure how you knew where to look
But I swear you looked me in the eyes
Knowing you were safe, 
Until you turned slowly
And walked quietly through the bushes
Back into your safety among the trees

As a teenager
I was molested in the seminary,
a few weeks after I left that place
my older brother who was helping
me adjust to the real world
was killed by the careless driving
of someone else, when i dream
of that time it’s always dark
i could go on 
about my father dying in my arms
or my beloved younger brother
losing his fight with aids or my
wife running off with the fire chief
after twenty years of marriage
or my nephew, the writer Jude Lally,
with a degenerative muscle disease
that’s robbing him of his mobility,
but you have your own story
and there’s a 99% chance 
it’s worse than mine
There’s never been a shortage
of suffering in the world
but we are the lucky ones
having time to write a poem 
everyday and the means 
to put it out into the world