wednesday night i looked
up and realized
i had forgotten the
sky
transfixed by my (re)discovery
i stared until
stars (re)appeared
thousands by
the second
i (re)ached for your hand
forgot what we left east of us
as we escaped into central PA
meanwhile
stars continued to (re)appear
and the sky seemed so saturated
i half expected
it
to exhale.
your torrential downpour –
wash us clean from our pride
to remind us
of things we cannot control
your voice alone is the thunder
your grace alone is the rain
no matter the price of gas
you will not cease to send your rain
people dying in earthquakes
those who will drown today in oceans
they’re as real as this house
this street, this page, these words
and my wife.
you created life
we try so hard to harness
you alone create.
how small i am and how big you are
to strike down,
create
destroy
remembering that you are not safe
but you are good
your rain
so thick i cannot see
you remind us who you are
and who are
we.
water from a hose
hot before cool and passed
brother to brother—
the break worthwhile
untainted by man
like bottled water will be
and much much purer—
for guzzles earned
when I-25
reached one end to the other
my house to Grandpa’s—
places for play
is a
lonely place
of exile.
A celebration of life occurs once and only once in every year
For every single person who lives life fully and believing,
Paying attention to now and not saying the end is near.
Now is the time for me to say happy birthday from a son
who’ll keep believing that you’ll keep achieving
sometimes i get confused
between hobbits
chopping trees
and italian food
I work in order to be at my leisure
but I am not at my leisure because I work;
this sick circle takes me around
and around and around yet again
with no exit in sight until the
ripe age of 65. 62 if I’m lucky.
59 1/2 if I’m ridiculously lucky.
Lucky thing that I married money,
(which hasn’t paid off yet
but may before I’m 59 1/2,
if I’m not dead by then,
or maimed, or paralyzed,
either physically or mentally
by the stultifying effects of life)
as a means of saving my zest for life.
Rising tension in my home
Makes me appreciate the peace,
That once freely did roam,
Now captivated creature we need to release.
*
Like a pipe blocked and filled with steam,
The pressure uprise could be
An inferno or geyser it would seem
When it explodes higher than a tree.
Rules can be bent
Crossing bridges over streams.
Our eyes will adjust
I consider myself to be a normal boy
(perhaps even a normal man)
with normal likes and dislikes
(such as apple pie and country music),
but then I question all this
when I find myself liking the smell of my own farts
rating the quality of each I release.
oh sweet refuse, filling the air
byproduct of my own waste,
handiwork of my own bowels.
sink
somewhere in the pacific swallowed perhaps
by
the waves of this cold black ocean as their
sandals
wash ashore: and this we cannot even begin
to comprehend
despite
our in
tern
et a
cc
e
s
s.
Summoning all my courage and reciting
the Bene Gesserit litany against fear
I plunged my hand beneath the water
grasping the cardboard
with which in my stupidity
I had clogged the toilet
when you run everyday for a week
without changing your clothes
the whole house can be ruined
by the overwhelming smell
of those stinky socks
like that
i intend to invade your thoughts
Riding off into the sunset
isn’t as glamorous as in the movies;
in stead of being triumphant,
really it’s just a lot of squinting
and wishing for sunglasses.
Genuine and synthetic happiness is therapeutic while summer thoughts of joyful and depressing moments in one’s own history and genealogy caress and tear upon their minds
it takes a skill
few have
and reserves
few care to create
or hold
a skill we have
and reserves we maintain
the sieve and the sand
will leave its
own fragrant
mark
standing
in light refracted through jesus
we listened.
Clutching at my Mary,
Thinking of the gift,
I’ll always remember
Who I wish to be with.
But some dreams can’t come true,
For life is the beginning,
Try not to grasp to tightly
Before Death comes running for you….
meek- lame
in the presence of strangers
i wander wondering
will I inherit this earth corner too?
what about the bird, the man, the stone,
the sieve and the sand
do I get them too?
a reward for all my awkwardness-
for laughing off
the absurdity of the
adult stranger sticking her tongue out at me in the streets, or the
friend’s endless babble about the pregnant shrimps he ate.
like a single shot—
fired at close-range—
kills all impossibilities.
the sieve and the sand 
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