Not an idea floating

I have had enough with death.
No one I care about is allowed
to leave this earth
from this day forward
until I’m gone.

This is not an idea floating
out there to see if anyone
likes it. This is like

Morning coffee too hot initially
New car smell
Coldness before dawn
Always follow the money
You plant milkweed
and something else shows up
Monarchs come anyway

Happily we can only imagine
a fraction of the cruelty.

Even atheists worship something.

Do you remember

Do you remember when
Stickmen on paper
For you in the making
Aligned feet to ground::
?
Were you pleased?
Felt it right and strong
You finally caught on?

Were you suddenly superior
To those around
With floating characters
In airy space<>
?
Were you pleased?
Or was it
Most likely oblivious?

July 2021

planting eucalyptus
as a windbreak
was a great mistake.
it burned furiously
unintentionally

and the Keys will be gone
after the deal we struck
with technology didn’t pan out.
whiffs of disaster
in piles

one’s time has shortened
into a lifetime’s
disappointing view.
sun, even now
unimaginable

Forget on waking everything
Forget the dreams
Today
Faith in tomorrow
Forget desire
And motivation
Last week’s vacation
Forget family
Friends
If you have any
Forget the things
That surround
Provide set dimensions

In this new life
This new day forget it all
As the pull of a current
Far out to a nowhere
Forgotten in this
moment of waking.

History is how many years ago?
when I was five, sure
older seems to others old.
Who decides if I lived through history?
if we are presently historic
in some proportions, and
Who decides when?
a moth my cat can’t catch
now history
a 4-year-old secluded
Kennedy died
a 4-year-old rushed to hospital
Beirut again Beirut
To think there is control
or logic in it
An accident, a bureaucratic
mixup,
Broken leg still limping
an historic fall.

This garden
where tulips
swayed in the wind
Those lips
with no rain
lasted, and now
new buds, perhaps a daisy
lilacs in bloom
and the corner bush
in a white cloak
like a bride–he’d say that
each spring
about another garden
The climbers starting to climb
and the ground vines
choking the ground,
columbine’s saffron
looking down.

May 31, 2014 it was a Saturday