I am an author and a contributing writer at the New York Times Magazine. This website contains information about my books and includes various magazine articles in full.  My tendency is to look at things from the roots, so whatever the subject my work usually ends up being history of some sort. But while I go along with James Baldwin's line "People are trapped in history, and history is trapped in them," I also feel that grim wisdom is trumped by the observation of P.G. Wodehouse's creation Bertie Wooster: "What a queer thing life is! So unlike anything else, don't you know, if you see what I mean."

poetry

universal language                               7 21 09

On this day

One year ago

Paint peeled

Wood cracked

Something died

Someone lived

The bowl of the sky

Forgot its name and used

A blank

To refer to itself

In the dream

I had of it with it

Speaking slow dark syrup

I understood syrup

And heard the words

That I would not

Survive yet here

I sit penning

With no pen

Words translated

From the syrup for those

Who don’t get it

For of course the meanings

running muddy through our deep

Rivers don’t translate

We say we’ll do

Our best

But at the end

Of every

So-called sentence

Presides

The question mark

letting go of jungles                   06 11 09

Letting go of jungles vines and ants
Finding that air breathes us and not the reverse

Settling haunches finding seat staying

Not to go and the fact that oh yeah a world

Snuffed out just now passes with this thin

Note a leaf swing-song drop to glide not

Of course happy but here there here

And no one could be more endeared

Or less at this moment filled with dread

So we shall shall we not see what comes and who

Lets go the more fully and feel sinew slip

Grip of finger unbow and arrow chunk

Straight down and not go larking

Toward the target eye remaining dread

To give full five measure toast to tame

The blood withal for funeral

For friend and fell for after all

We never wait to find what fell but work

Ourselves to see the end expecting no one

to follow up come clean the rug or dust

enough you know as well as that the top

does not undo so well as once it did let go

I say and so I did

Teleprompter                             05 11 09

Here’s a poem: fuck fuck fuck fuck

Fuck and the darkdanger you know

Sits right in the silver slip of your vein just

There slid into blood but nosey like deck

Wash when fish slap aboard in heavy weather

And have hard headache to greet with splinter

Cold reality choke with lack of nonair that holds

As stapled fin to rubber soul we like no one to know

We know and so you don’t pretend to swim

And I will go along with that let’s wait until the sun

Comes down and then at least the band can chime

Without a harp or pin or pick or die and give me

Shit with which to prick what’s filled with air

For no one’s crime but mine is worse than no one’s

Ice that dance too hot for bees that hovering scold

And you know you deserve it all.

mother's dei                                           05 11 09

Trade it all about kids my kids your kids will know what we mean in sweat luck

Dont give or pretend to breathe and I will promise mothers sons some fright for

Nightscape jar dance lest welcome tide dime trade umbilicals with platform

Shoes to star in and let me take this opportunity to sink every single won if ewe

Display the same behavior one hundred times more today we’ll go for goat

Meet no dinner today for you or birthday threats to snap ribbon shall we take

The last strands and tie them together into what the fairytale instructions gave

For help for air coming out of mouth for breathing in someone else’s that will be

Enough to lunch?  We dont say so because there are threats that dislodge all this

Random jazzy gumption and I rode ponies to but forgot the downside.

listen to this                                          04 11 09

Don’t tell me you expect not to suffer

From my presence the cone of dark the day

‘s long drawl from which I guess I will

Accept responsibility anyway there can

‘t be hope trapped in such a shallow breast

But when stabs of sunslide through

Cloudcrack rainwhile slate blue

And the melba bright green of waxy

Leaves reflect back sun on bead

On rainslack lizardback spikes

Give no more than what we thought

We deserved because as the man

Told me in no uncertain turns deserve’s

Got nothing to do with it

Let that be the lessen too me greater

Than threat of death’s waiter hover a

-waiting finger or eyebrow lift some sign

From below nightwatch wait listen hold

My breath and tap the pen and let ink

Run expecting it will heal transform

Infuse with something like a moment

Of good or probably not but any way

Political Statements                            3 22 09

To the waiter:

I’ll have the sunlight, please.

To the stranger: you

Are in my way. To the dark

Ceiling: why? To you:

Help, help

Me unpuzzle the growing

And the wing-unfolding, the life-

Is-a-present-to-be-unwrapping,

Which foot first, and when

Is a better moment than another,

And how does one keep taut

The reins or threads to lives

That depend on one and on which

One depends for all and how I

Guess most of all to know that.

Tree path                                      2 2 09

If there was a way for a day to be forced

With food and wine and sun and love

And made to glow with silly wisdom

I would like you to know how much

It means to me that you exist.  Not

Even for your own benefit but because

Other hearts seek to beat against

Other breasts and this is as long a distance

As anyone ought to suffer and yet of

Course it’s nothing like real pain that

Of nuclear victims or acid tunnels

But I executed like a skillful admiral

This life and chiseled night and day

Its features to make a fine thin-barred

Cage so there you go there we are and you

Won’t feel the effects I guess for ten

Or so years but I feel them now

This very moment I type and breathe

So it’s ok and ok so sunshine’s hum

Drum a bit and maybe it’s years since

I saw anyone shake with straight-armed

Fist-clenched pleasure or pull two

Arms straight up and charge at the air

But there are we know other things

In life and is my regret and bowl

Of remorse not even directed

At your reflection but reflected right

On and in my own flat and deep self

My doing my living my art of

Decisionmaking my lungs breathing

Sometimes a little weakly and so

Only for me the question stands as

To how on fuck’s green earth the light

Is supposed to shine on such narrowness

As is the path cut through my heart

Or as you would say if I gave you

Leave make it wider and let heart

Be path not stuff and guide

To shine and your knowing stands

For something yet the snow

Stands cold and trees don’t move

They’re nice I wish I only could it’s lost

On me how skaters sleep there’s miles

To go before ice leap

I’ll Find My Own So                          12 17 08

Find me no love

Blood

Money

Teeth for dancing

On meat, deeds

I won’t do anyway

Give

And I shall take

As much as

I want despite

Misgivings for

I am nothing

Apparently but

A bag

For wants

Tied with string

To keep myself

From knowing

Dark Dog Deserve                                        12 2 08

Let me give you every possible reason

For undercutting the flesh of my reason

To delay the quick end and face face—

I do not any longer want even one moment

To maintain this temperate endless climate

Of waiting or wandering and letting destiny

Which is to say flab speak to my children

And give them ideas about flab as flab

Face as floor, broken wings to stack like

Logs and build walls of cabins to keep

Out the daylight gray jabs and winds

To shiver you in your arms and make dayResponse like yellow-white flickers

On water at black night, I’ll give comfort

When I’m ready if and when I decide

Who deserves it and first and foremost

Will be me or you or some stranger bleeding

To death we pass by on our way to

Do laundry and wait for a few hundred

More seconds to unexpurgatedly tick

By as if that will solve the dilemma and make

Us slink heavenly toward those places we knewIn dreams of hot weather and ice cream

Even if it was of bad quality but yet we danced

In our dreams but wait even then there was no

Dancing in the streets only someplace dug

Inside the soil of my chest and so forget

What I started wanting to tell you because

This whole thing is only a dream of heart

Wanting to flee a chest and burst red

Spraying across your heavens to show a thing or

Two.

Ancient People Lived and So Do We               11 09 08

I have two or three things to say and would like to be allowed

Extravagance as I give myself room to breathe and children

Time to frolic and garlic air to perfume and love some wet thing

To understand as a mirror of itself for are we not all after all in

Love with the idea of reflection churning boiling like bronze

Pots in ancient lands with liquids peered into by ancient eyes

For something that takes the plate of the wide blue world

And hoists it of a sudden smack against our breasts so we feel

That rush and thunder rumble right into the echo of our blood

Hoppy little dance of spirits inside and out so we start laughing

Letting go unpacking giving up in a good way resting closing

Eyes yielding where necessary completely even absurdly

Being along and on and with and through and at and under

All we are and what you are and who it is and why this right

Now and here in the month and second and beat of blood that

Defines things should go and continue let me think and not here

Be.

Advice Column                                             11 02 08

Hey here’s something the land

Is always for sale which means when

Tired or sad you can always buy some

And this will ground you (sorry) make you

A little bit more the person you

Were trying to be but forgot

In the rush of days and people

Give depth and richness and dumb

Honesty to the wispy thing you

Call your heart and being and maybe

Make to boot some money or be soil

For new beings

dreamy dream                                08 11 08

I think I know a thing or two about life

And what it isn’t and when the animals stand

Silent snuffling aside the slip of sharp

Scrub and such asking in essence

That I pay attention to something deep

Within on pain of I never know what

And that is the whole the entire bloody

Thing you never get to find out I am

Beginning to think

who's in charge                       04 30 08

Only these several bundles of

years, tied into units, stacked
atop one another: that's all

it took to reach this height of sudden

sniffing some new air, like a nose

stuck into a cloud's heart and wow

that moisture's scent cleansed

of the past, the earth and its

heavy heavy time way down.

Today is as good as a walk

straight up a hill, never mind

the row after row of vinyl clapboard

units flanking us as we, the dog

and I, step our lively presence

cut the dawning evening

like a knife and don't know

this one second that sadness and all

that crap roar like lions because

we right now know this is

a zoo and we the keepers

Don't Tell Me                             03 31 08

About clouds

Bruising up and settling

In among us, glooming

The hollow day: I

Invented the things.

Sun is where

You hang your hat,

A peg of yellow

That blots out

After you’ve stepped

Into the room

And removed your wet things

And everyone blames you

Probably,

And I guess

You spend the rest

Of your era wondering

Where the warm life

Went or maybe secretly, self-

Hidden, you know you

Killed it yourself. 

Ladies and gentlemen,

I would like to introduce

You to my good friend,

Steady rain.  The fact

Is it isn’t

What you think

Because you think

Emotionally.  The day

Has no feeling in itself

And if it has for you

You know only the memory

Of an event or two

Long past and so empty like

Wet lines

Scarring the carpet

In the shape

Of a shoe

Ghosts that live

In your brain only

Or convince you

They do.  My wisdom

Therefore: give

Until a crack sounds,

Until you smell

Something opening up

In the earth, dirt-alive. 

Take that damp cloth

And wipe your forehead

Clean.  Obey precepts

From ancient authorities.

Abjure drizzle.  Sigh.

Sleep. Wake.

Worry. Dread. Sweat.

Now go.

hour after moment                    03 31 08

This is what I call clean living: waiting

For a spy to touch the sand that crevices

Around a face and letting the pregnant

Pause eat a new definition of silence

For shame to wander like someone dark

On a street tired from rain.  Endless

Shall be the day you were born and end-

Less the time for longing for some sweet

Touch or fragrance, flower grown from

Sunshine, I know this sparkle flies fast

From the face of the sun but no one can

Promise too much lest unseen dark-

Ness envelope us and who to blame

Who to give what to grant why wonder

The point but you do don’t you or wait

For a peek of sun and think it’s what

I asked you for all those lonely days

Full of sadness fat with life heavy

From the task of waking bathing

Drinking in the light the very air.

ice and cement                             01 26 08

If weather changes we know it changes

Again so we don’t set our bones

Hardening but keep limber and expect

New things on other mornings.  This

Is not about weather.  Sometimes

Curtains are made of steel or skull

Material and something opening

Or clamping down doesn’t leave

A gap though (and this is the trick)

It could take half a lifetime to figure

That out and still, shallowly breathing

Our last, refusing to sip food, we

Fail to consume and digest the

Fact that life altered forever

On a very particular day.

Is this sad or lucky?  Please answer

In words and pictures, use the

Internet to aid you but verify

And doublecheck your sources:

Handle trust like a delicate blade

That might be of grass or steel,

That might grow and die or cut.

Amsterdam                          01 26 08

Is this Fate or just a walk

On a windy day in a city

Full of wind?  I waited

For myself to answer

And keys to open any-

Thing that struck

Me as needing a passage

And someone (does it

Matter who?) came and

Blocked it just perfectly

A hall with a door and

Window and gate

A shelf with holes for

Falling down onto

The next level of what

You thought you wanted

To keep

Nonconform                             01 07 08

I beg you please don't give

These stars individual names

Or let tigers grow some-

Thing other than stripes

I want the same right to praise

Rainfall for blessing us; let

Silence be something

And never stand shaking

Hands and limbs like dark

Winds blowing but live

With wonder as water we

Drink from the stony well

I am as content as you

Will ever be and consider

That all your relatives fly angels

For kites in private heavens

That gives these stars rights

They have no right to claim

But who will sue or raze

Who will give blood for water

Exchange this wind of noise

For the peace that pleases

And let it all drop to death?

We Will Wait                             12 01 07

Silence will drift-sway, leaflike, feather-

Falling, this way and then the other,

Descent happening to us.  And you think

You have it rough.  There is no luck

On this planet anymore.  Give breaks

To those who need them including

Not me but someone I know or will.

Let’s get drugs or eat coffee beans and

Die until we’ve reopened the old wounds

And I will forgive you even though

The fault was apparently mine all along

Because you are so in need of help in

The short run but where do I stand years

From now as the suns rub more rays

Into the creases and my fingers sigh

Open on the neck of the bottle or

Dwarf yielding to the pressure that

Has been here ignored somehow some

Years but I knew it would hit some

Sudden day like bullets and the panic

Flush the skin wet. I wish I

Had noonlight to study my dark

Eyes. 

requiem        11 22 07

There is nothing like the sun for making us

Hunger for summer and like blood for turning

Meat to poison and reslanting rain back

Toward heaven.  I honestly do not know my

Own mind: there's the truth found in sacs

All along the insides of this packet I

Have no choice but to associate with myself.

Give me: my downfall is in that phrase;

I expect and wait, I lounge, bide, shuffle.

Some stride and take like villains and they

Live the right kind of life, I guess, but I live

The other kind, which is okay.  I know you

Won't forget me.  It was nice.  People each

Of us know lived for a while in this space

Between. It was great to watch the square dance

As if we two were an Oklahoma town charged

With dust and human fluids and that I'll forever

Cry was just grand as was all the rest.

It was sweet and good and some things

Go on seemingly forever and others just

End. Here I sit in dirt scratching making

My peace with a stick, some signs ancient

But actually I just made up: this one you,

Another me and the others fade

Into complications because that's how

The rest of it was, which says it all.

i'll do just what you say and then turn bitter     11 11 07

Hellofa start to a fineday rainslant

And I dont give prizes to winners but stay alone off

To the side abiding mice and tundras never

Mind what the surprise of a peek

Of sun can do for sudden skipping fever and never

Were organ grinders pet concerns catered

To under the old system but we survived

And got strong as thunder against every bet

They laid on the table and believe me

They did

Sureyourway is best there's no contest

I don't stand on legs only break

What passes for fever and sweat allbymy

Self because jeez guess what

This was rigged from the beginning

Who knew that besides everyoneinvolved

Don't give me you told me so I am theone

Who insisted on grand lines like Hamlets

And such dear Ophelia you know just

About everybloody thing and that makes

Two of us who live in caves poked by

Fingers in the sides of craniums temple

Hermits holed up for pentecostalcatastrophe

The sun grows on youyou like to say which

Is a patented lie we all forgive inorder

To maintain what this thing was whatever

We forgot to call it and don't elaborate today

Because it's almost somebody's birth

Day god forbid the applecartcrashes leaving

Survivors who can be honest about

Something in black and white which

Embarrasses really both of us and leaves

No strong smell or stain but can't blanket

This kind of night because it is simply and finally

Too dark

read the news                                   10 23 07

“Now comes the mass-market

Video game festival, perhaps

A surprising latecomer to North

America.”  Give up and play

Until the morning mist disperses

And you can dream for five

Minutes of fruit trees with twisted

Wood next to a decaying

Farmhouse in Umbria or some

Like spot that makes you feel

Anything.  Anything but what

Passes for blood running

Through veins when you know

It is money or some low hollow

Liquid that makes you go jerk-

Jerk-jerk and feel good or at

Least different and you decide

That is what good is and let

It go at that and don’t forget

What is always on your mind:

Those other minds, always

A problem, which can’t let

Go of you because hey they

Are only trying to get by, cling

To rocks, wanting to play

With friends at school and get

Some cool things as presents

And don’t need the shit but know

Apparently somehow that it’s

What’s behind the curtain and on

The screen when the projector

Starts and you never thought

To have to make up an ending

But assumed the motes in

The cone of light would amuse.

oh so light                                                10 3 07

There was a bunch of fire

That afternoon, and sails spun

Away in the double-blue

Where anyway I couldn’t see

And goats or rams clung

To their hot high crags lipped

With tufty grass and I didn’t

And don’t give a damn because

I am lost and nobody knows

It better or pretends the day

Is longer or stops trucks

By marching in front prostrating

On asphalt: This is not my

Problem, I would like to take

This opportunity to shout—it

Belongs to the dark behind

My unlooking gaze, which

Is fairly expert if I do say so.

The problem is I want what

You cannot give and you want

What I have no intention

Or desire even so who expects

Besides blind people that

The road would not end in

Anything but a sudden stop.

And yet surprise after surprise

It continues, another bend or turn

And here we are, more trees or

Whatever rocks gravel a pin

Or pen cap and dusty sun air

Giving us problems headache

You want a rub and I oblige

As why not for the touch gives

Reward and living free this

Second forgetting every dance

And day and complication

Does not in the end please

The boss or his minion his

People or tent or obscure

Longing in the alley I know

And you don’t belong

And that is just fine

Let it fall and I’ll

Pick it and dance

Because I dance

I am a dancer

Don’t you

Fly

anymore

Or

Give

Me

What you think I need that only makes

Matters worse

Lark Song                                                 9 16 07

Go ahead and encourage the government to forbid

Flowers and love and end the connivance partners

Take for granted over coffee.  See if it matters for

Summer grains between toes and the lessening of

Solstice nausea and rain gear dripping less slick of

Light purpose.  Wait at the corner for twenty-five or

So minutes and if I don’t show up you’ll know it’s

Lamptime in the barrow with orangy glow on brass

And plenty of corner shadows for mice or others to

Hide.  Veer clear of the trap of heartwarmed song.

Trying to purposes, standing outside the hotel school

Holding balloons that say happy graduation, if you

Can imagine such activities that must be nice I guess

But I doubt it with all the hearts in my belly.  Some-

One says there has to be sense for nonsense to have

Meaning but it’s clearly an unsupportable assumption.

--------------------

Fifties Melodrama                                        9 14 07

And tell us, please: How

Are you feeling this morning:

Frustrated, sorrowful, convinced,

With a sudden brush of rainy wind,

That life is a bowl of dust or

Something?  Give us all

Your deep stuff.  Shine in sweat

On our template and let us man-

ufacture a reflection that suits

The unique charm of your in-

Most self and presents you

As an offering of human grace

That could rightfully inhabit

A communion host.  We’ll fashion

You into sanctity, or no, that

Happens anyway, doesn’t

It?, all you have to do is smell

Something fresh and wild

On the day’s wind as you

Pop around the corner.  I

Want you to know what’s inside

Your heart or the earth’s core

Or at least the pocket you forgot

When you changed clothes. 

Contrary to what the news

Suggests I don’t crave poverty

For your soul, I want rather

Richnesses to unfold and to let

Go of baggage and give

Bees a chance to do

The sweet sticky job they love.

--------------------

Cul de Sac                                                        9 12 07

Bitterness or whatever apparently swivels like a telescope.

And now it’s trained this way: toward the light that shines

In my eyes and pays out a line of sudden indifference,

Like sleep in a wave cresting. I search myself as if

For missing keys, patting here and there and find nothing.

I am slow as a clam, but steady like the sand it sucks and spits, Valving with an old rhythm: on this you can depend, or could.

For there is no white moon this night, nothing romantic.

I’m told turkeys and ruminants dodge the inevitable in

Similar ugly fashions and I don’t feel for their death. 

Animals all.  Let the games be dead.  Forget me and I

’ll mosey off down this salt trek between cudgels and

Fevers, observe the traffic, be good or bad, not finding

Much difference that comes bouncing back either way.

--------------------

Boss                                                                         9 11 07

Forget expecting them to answer

And forget the way snow feels melting

Away on your hot tongue. And the skin

Of a dead animal rubbing

Against your leg thickened

With money. And let this

Be a lesson to you. Ho hum, you are out

Of school and forced to draw up

Your own lesson plans and grade your own

Stuff and find a suitable piece of tree when

You are bad and strip it and give

Yourself a few as punishment and make yourself

Cry and apologize and sincerely

Say you’ll never do whatever it was again

And know you don’t mean it not

That you are false but you get

people and this includes you.

--------------------

The Landscape an Animal                                        9 11 07

I remember the lake and them

Going out for a pass, it bounced

Off the dock and far

Into the water and the boys, your

Cousins?, running diving in after but

They went too far and it was the dog

That plopped in four-pawing and got

It and as it turned back I turned

To my right and saw rearing

Up from the surface as

Big as a whale a polar bear, mountain

Of cold animal from deep inside becoming

The landscape and then behind

The wave rose to the sky, a mile straight

Up and I lay back then and closed

My eyes to brace for its hit: good

Bye.

It never came.  I often admire

Someone like Allen Ginsberg

Who let feelings ride up and down,

Rose with those waves and didn’t

drown but bobbed, or else didn’t

Notice much the drowning.

This is an odd goal, desiring

Lacking, hungering for no food

And filling up on it, searching

For a zero to round off the number.

If I had this goal and fulfilled

It I would stop chattering my teeth

And let the wind carry me up

And that would be the start.

So they say.  I question

Whether I value such a number

Highly or whether anyone

Does who has done this thing. 

Anyway, the bear, there, here.

In this world with me, and life goes

On.

---------------------

Hundred Vacancies                                                      9 3 07

This is not what I had in mind.

Days fly like they're someone else's.

Life takes a turn now and then: tell

Your children this, in order

To prepare them.  But hey, by now

They get it.  There are faces

In dreams and on book covers.

A parade of them, bobbing

Like apples at your own childhood

Events, pretending to you the simplicity of

It all when even at seven you know

The sham inside.  But you’re good

At ducking shams, denying truths,

Omitting details, falsifying records,

Being a spy and counterspy when

Very young.  I like honesty in

Children better than, say, playfulness.

It hurts less, means more, gives some-

Thing back, welcomes no one, for-

Gives nothing, ends fights, launches

Wars, buries hatchets, struggles back

To the surface with luggage in tow

And welcomes everyone with jouncing

Movements, like we’re all dancing

At somebody’s fiftieth birthday

Party and the sky is falling and

All drunk as heavy lords sway and touch

Each other as if such flirty flits rivet

Us to the living and the day and

To earth. Give me what shit

You have and I am here to take that

Stuff and give some of my own: this

Is after all adulthood isn’t it?  Or so

My parents taught me.  Thank god

For lessons learned.  Hereby I bequeath

Something to someone I don’t know

And never will: let that suffice to reckon

What I give up on, what I won’t give

In on or resubmit to and forget forgetting

About all that happened or crystally

Remembering it for that matter.  You go

Into that good night how you will

And I’ll stand in the hall awaiting

The results of the tests, as if I care, for

I’m past caring and beyond the need

Of forms of transportation: I will catch

No train or bus and I forgive

Myself nothing and let no one off

The hook. 

--------------------

scar                                                                         8 28 07

Like oil on the surface the anger

There has burned off leaving gleaming

Metal that feels soft when air hits

It.  Lots of pools still below,

I know but this is nice.  I wish

I knew myself as well as the face

Of anger but apparently it’s lying

Behind several masks or rows of

Bottles or something.  I miss

A scar.  Once upon a time there was a

Black cat that peed inconsolably as if

It missed its mother.  My father

’s father knew a thing or two: how

To load dice, who to buy, and this

Was my father’s cradle.  What if what

Lies behind the anger is more

Anger like a mirror facing a mirror,

How do I proceed and come to terms

With what I know full well so I

May touch that scar and in

Touching tell it what it means

To me?

--------------------

For Sale                                                          8 27 07

Volkswagen Jetta

Lots of mileage.  Memories. 

My small people smaller.

Real mad joy flowing

from questioning tension.

In very good condition—

I wish

The heat of the summer

Had meaning that could

Flow direct, give strength.  You like

Things, and people, and everyone

Knows how good that is. 

Glow, glow, glow, glow.

What is this low heavy stuff and sigh,

Day and night, but the balance

For that glow?  Let

Me understand the years’

Meaning—I swear I’m ready, can take

It, take anything, have taken, will act, won’t

I?

The a/c needs repair. 

--------------------

prayer                                                                           8 25 07

I dreamed a good dream last night.

The walls were the color of skin

And held me well, not too tight or loose,

But with natural pressure.  I realize now

After all these years that I never budge

Only because nothing does.  We all of us—

Bees, their honey, abandoned newspapers,

Kids, gun barrels, the lot—float just

Here, hour after brightest hour,

Until there is no more brightness.

I’m not going anywhere. 

And that’s a good thing

Yet I tell myself to realize that by now

I might be left

To my own devices: but isn’t that

Always the fact?  There’s my lesson,

I guess, my nugget, my sad self ways, yours

Too, whatever your name and days.

Scales fall, skin sheds, newness like

A sun opens but hey guess what it’s

The same center, hard and steady

And as familiar as the throb

In my neck and chest.

Much grinding of the machine in

My case for precious little

In thick slow stingy drops, wisdom, like

Those bees and their honey, yet maybe

With some sweetness. 

The twig that manages bids

Or rather buds

Makes its own flowers, sweetens with sun

The sky surrounding.  My prayer

Goes thus: Don’t let

Me with un-

Gainly footfall step or crush

What goodness grows.  I wouldn’t mind

Some strength though strength

Is rarely what they say. Let some sun

Or other glow on all of these and

This, the nature I seem to have

Spawned.