People were like soap operas—
So when I could,
I’d turn them to sonnets.
And when I couldn’t,
I’d call it a wash.

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People were like soap operas—
So when I could,
I’d turn them to sonnets.
And when I couldn’t,
I’d call it a wash.
At some point you just let go,
and that need to be understood
just drifts by the wayside.
Like a dog is a dog, a cat is a cat—
with or without the mustard.
If we can accept ourselves
in life, and that in this life
we’re living, the right way
and the wrong way, mostly
aren’t ever in alignment
with our true nature of self,
rather it’s often
sideways we must go, sideways
like the pebble in the stream
knows only one direction,
and that chaos when reversed
reveals itself as precisely
the way it ought to be.
Men in the park
grip brown paper bags
certain as Catholic nuns
grasp their faith,
both counting one
by one, until neither
makes any difference
in the course of eternity.
Two paths, one park bench—
Angelic in their own rite.
How can a man
give so much of himself
to the past, and so little
to his future?
The answer
can be found as quickly
as a needle in hay.
It’s a needle
that always draws a little blood.
You can sense it you know,
yourself shutting down—again
with the change of scenery, again
with the change of heart.
It’s like trying to stop a freight train
running yourself empty, till
all there is is but to explode.
It’s a very empty place to be living.
It’s a very empty place to be born.
It’s a beautiful fall day, though, isn’t it?
Isn’t it beautiful, this
in depth exhibition of yourself—
without the guts, with all the answers
and nothing all that good say.
Love is a language
a well written play
worn like a curtain
pulled closed on a stage
the cheering erupts
thrown roses at bay
behind a closed curtain
life’s finest display.
When your grass is no longer green,
drink more water—
96 hours worth.
“You’re pretty,” said the turtle
to the dove. “Thanks,” said the dove
to the turtle, “but I’m nothing
compared to the peacock.”
“Well, I’ve known many a peacock and
I think you’re much more beautiful.”
“Still I’d rather be a peacock,” said the dove
to the turtle. And I’d rather be a dove,
thought the turtle
as he watched the dove take wing.