Out on the edge of oblivion
There’s an immensity to water
A body in motion,
Where morning sun
Cuts between
Banks of clouds
White from wind,

September 6, 2022 Duluth

The weight of the war upon me
Saturating dreams
And sleep
As if I need to actively do something
Pressing me into action

I sit idly by
During the day
Mind strict control
And at night
Drums roll

And roil then cymbals
Clash, alarm bells clang
Wake up, please wake up
Already, this now
Is crushing me.

March 18, 2022

So what must one do
In these short years left, love
That is the word, love

Yet people don’t want
To recreate anything
Once the project’s begun—

But every pen needs
A nib honed, pencils sharpened—
Lives written like unkept tools

Then expect at the end
The ley lines will be well ordered
And eternity pleased

While the sun rises, falls
The enormity of the project
Eludes us—even

With the shifting shadows
Beauty of reflected light.

January 7, 2022

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