lifegame

snowflakes blustering in may

each flake fingerprints

in their brief cascade


the unseen fabric,

the unobserved pattern:

masking the imponderable


as a moth transforming

or a star shining,

turn my world, beyond



a few claim authority,

knowing that we are all one

but not how to share


a few claim higher authority,

knowing hope distracts

misery and measure


others demand respect

from false fears

and planned ignorance



fewer still set examples

unseen on TV or the internet

unheard by our ancestral brain



all claim beyond their reach

to illuminate the unfamiliar,

reflect the known



each new turn tests our progress:

that each must play alone,

naked and be speckled

noclock

burros claim this arid garden:
nothing much happens here,
except
a rush of city people

out of touch
with the wonder of time,
going somewhere else

here, no outside news
to fear

nothing to do
that can't wait

yet, here is where we are
here is the center of all things

if distractions persist here
that remind you of
another life, another time
then looking further
means looking away

here, time is not measured
by clocks
here, the rhythms of each day
shower an indifferent land

not much has changed,
except
understanding time
has shaped this land too long
to allow us a drive-by taste

love corpse2

dreams surrender,
as waves crash
on unseen shoals,
with another

the warm womb of intention
an unreliable witness,

awaiting sentence,
love has imploded quietly

not reheated three times a day
spinning a cocoon
of franchised dreams, love

but deep, two or three souls removed,
satisfied to have a voice,
unchained by the wind, love

counting the sand grains
on a unforgiving beach

stretching the daylights
beyond the horizon of the darkness
waiting for one another, love, to die

one by one

omniscient gusts interrogate,
one by one,
every snow flake, forever falling
in a floating funeral
within the abandoned walls,

like forgotten souls seeking refuge, once,
in the comfort of other travelers, now,

in the wind-blown company,
the ineffable torment,
of soft-speaking indigents

where the silent uproar
of despair awakens,
then floods, the forced greeting:
“work will set you free”

an incentive for hope,
held over each head
seeking fresh air

i enter late,
the scope of man known:
each of us is a prisoner
of a larger, less obvious world,
no longer contained by walls

inside, everything clarifies
here, insidious roots
of today’s compliant life
are displayed,
in this model of SS intent,

here, another generation,
imprisoned by hopefulness,
blinded by the freedom of each snowflake
finger print the air,
with the rhythms of that moment

so those still unaware
or who no longer care
that their lives are planned,
one by one,
by the architects of today,
are inaudible synchronized
with each archived scream

sultry winds

my memories stir as I lie against the setting sky
the stifling heat of a desert afternoon dies unwillingly
like my ancient body

a farmer's windmill chafes my thoughts,
indifferently announcing time
falling to one side: my life, now limited
against the once limitless sun

the gentle colours are gently extinguished
enchanting sounds bloom
as the sky crystallizes one moment,
stretching it beyond reach

winds caress the still depths of my aching bones
as memories surround my consciousness into surrender
healing the pain of each moment
since my last confession:

i fell in love with strangers
now they sleep within me, as I lie alone
in the darkness that has pinned
my lingering fingers to the ground