her whisper varicosed my neck
in thin wires choking me beneath the skin--
why are we here?
it wasn't the first time
i had thought about this
but it was the first time
i had thought about this since
the last time i had thought about this
i am able recall that such a pattern of thought
might appropriately be referred to as
continual as opposed to continuous
the on and off of it all
filling my throat
the other people on this earth
were supposed to keep me breathing
to keep me far from this particular vacuum
of apoplectic thought but here she was smiling
as I slipped into comatose torpidity
swelling in circles
symptomatic of myself
go to sleep
and together we fell alone into
the ostensible listlessness
of pondering our existence
-inspired by Anne Sexton’s “Old”
And they might find it, that sticky sweet answer hiding in the back corner
of the universe. In the meantime, I find it funny that we still rely on phrases
like 'leaving the earth' to refer to the process of becoming it.
How can we be scared to talk about the only thing we all have in common?
With that in mind, I can’t help but ask nobody in particular--
if it starts like a dream,
where is the ending?
And if I must sleep forever, I don't think I will want to know that I am not awake.
I would like the animalistic freedom of dreaming to become simple reality.
When they finally find the edge of the universe, I am sure it will not be
what they had hoped for when they first set out.
Cheers to the survivors
of the shipwreck of uncertainty
that has and will continue to
take our friends away,
forcing us homeward
with hardly enough time
to watch them drown.
I have been looking at you
for fifty odd years waiting
for you to slow down the time.
Our bodies hunger and
I am a 12-year- old realizing I am alive.
I am 31 and drunk on dandelion wine.
I am 55 and hungover.
And all the while,
God has been waiting patiently
for us to spend time with Him,
for reasons unknowable to us
that more-or- less resemble
what might be referred to as