Everything else

Today is the first day of
the rest of your life;
said
as if
that is some sort
of profound
commencement wisdom

So comes the future
hurtling
at the speed of time
unavoidable unless
you have handy access
to a starship
that sees all space
relativistically

We exist
we have existed
and
we’re going to die;
everything else
is liable to change

Today is the first day
of the rest of everything else.

In the instant, it’s real to me

Is it madness
when in moments of unrivaled clarity
the cosmos drops its shy fa├žade
to speak, candidly
to me and
me alone?

Is it madness
when the thoughts of every soul
living and dead turn to aether
and diffuse into my conscious, now
so sensitive that each time the Earth
breathes
it tingles, a billion pinpricks
against the skull?

Is it madness
when before a great tree
in an instant I relive its thousand-year past
learn its pain and cherish its triumph
knowing that those that came first
gave it a name
long lost
except to me?
I know it, I know all.
I know it, I know.

Sometime soon all this knowledge will
dissolve into pieces so fine
that no hands could put them back in
their rightful place, in glory.

Is it madness?
Is it joy, beauty?

It isn’t real
except in the moment
it is to me.

In velvet splendor

In velvet splendor;
meandering, undulating;
to a place where no line runs;
straight;
and no word said;
with grand clarity;

gleaming towers;
they shine;
shimmer;
into shade then shadow;
to a place where form and function;
matter not;

to a place where love and hate;
disease, vitality;
flow free;
and never can the captured see;

never can the captured see;

Where demons dwell

Dimly lit,
patrons quiet,
assaulted by a Top 40
single that cracked the
top ten, despite
popular opinion-
total shit.

It stirs
voices quiet
yet clear, precise
a decade’s pain
crystallized

Fun?
Disappointing?
Forgotten, really
the stenographer
erases
the night before;
bourbon as
a burning salve
to an open wound
lying deep
where demons dwell
where the mind wishes to forget

 

 

Hushed, long silent but now urgent beyond all measure

The past is constructed with large portions excised

A jigsaw puzzle missing the bridge arching over the brook

In the bottom left corner beneath a pale blue sky

The few lines of text give

No meaning within besides that which you feel

Sparkle within your weary heart

She turns to you, and only you

Entering the doorway with her back to a pall

Of a past you did not know

The checkbook slides across the marble table

A pen clicks once,

Twice more, anxiety bubbling

Yes, money

But for what, to whom?

Facing the past, or running away again-

Will this poem describe not one moment but two

Three, more?

Wrinkled brow and a tortured, lingering glance

The pen clicks once more, the checkbook slides away

The sun comes up as a new day dawns

And ushers forth the leaves falling, the nights darkening

A chill that stays long past its welcome

Only tired hope thinks that you’re still

Here

Alive

Was the slow shake of the head merely the

Conductor’s cue for a dirge?