Sunday, October 13, 2013

A Sliver


of cognisance between what
you know and what you have
seen.  Light particles
accelerating thorough the event.

And in the hallway, doors open
and close.  Lights flicker, then
vanish to appear again a drink
south, a conversation falling

from the table where events have
congealed.  This is a game of
pick-up-events, without disturbing,
without ruffling.  Without consequence.

In the aura of memory, equality
rules.  In the rule of today, events
are pollen in the wind, an irritant,
a photo of.  In the moment that

you spoke, the air cracked and
I will never know if everything
escaped or entered.  It’s just
that everything is different and

I am breathing a different air,
seeing a different light — the way
it clings to the sounds we make,
the way we try to communicate.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Words


This is the meal, the
measured allotment and on
a given day, this is the
measure of who I am —
random, calculated, weapon
and balm — this is the vapor
trail a life leaves across
conversations, inserts into
situations, like a needle bringing
soma to the situation —
solution to the conundrum
and this is each breath escaping,
coalescing on the windowpane
of each event and I am on a bus,
leaving and looking at the
passing — leaving and looking
at what I pass — observing
with commentary until
well past sunset’s last smudge.

Saturday, October 05, 2013

Time




And in the cacophony of
a conversation consuming
minutes, I remember how —

can time really pass so
slowly, like glances at the lake
which barely recognizes spring,

or is it autumn’s first snow?
On the surface of slow water,
footprints march back and forth,

like coffee on the porch, between
the carafe and the cup, while
the mailman comes and goes,

sometime before the internet,
before the instant conversation,
while waiting for the milkman.

I text and text returns, like
instant gratification, never far
away from knowing what is

happening just down the road
or continent.  Time is the distance
between, the moment when

revelations are revealed — acts
gathered into an event,
evolving one memory at a time.

And in the cacophony of
a conversation consuming
minutes, I remember how —

can time really pass so
slowly, like glances at the lake
which barely recognizes spring,

or is it autumn’s first snow?
On the surface of slow water,
footprints march back and forth,

like coffee on the porch, between
the carafe and the cup, while
the mailman comes and goes,

sometime before the internet,
before the instant conversation,
while waiting for the milkman.

I text and text returns, like
instant gratification, never far
away from knowing what is

happening just down the road
or continent.  Time is the distance
between, the moment when

revelations are revealed — acts
gathered into an event,
evolving one memory at a time.