Tag Archives: Being


If we are all stardust,

why then must we fret

over what constellation

we find ourselves

striving to shine in?

Does not each star,

added to the glory of the night sky,

make its tapestry all the more


all the more



Dirty Laundry

The laundry is piled in the corner
on the stairs and in the hall
it hangs over the chair back
gets under foot
never finding resolution
the basket never empty
the laundry is piled in the corner
on the stairs and in the hall

we just ignore it
we just walk on

When the end

When the end comes
it will come quietly
hungry for the spaces left
unattended and uncared for
it will come soft and slow,
so that when it is upon you
shuddering you will ask how it is it came?
…from which direction?
its reply:
the direction you were not looking.
And there is always a direction
you are not looking.

Fickle is the realm of the heart

Fickle is the heart

joyous of a day

jealous of a star

balm of a tear

weary of a sigh

and yet I would not trade

its wisdom for all of the world

not a piece

not a fraction for

every certainty the Gods have to give

I will carry this fickle beast

within my chest

and let it journey me

through places near and far

let it teach me courage

and to be here

where you are

so be it

the whimsical mystery of

the ambrosia of life

so be it

so beat it

fickle be the heart

but in love

it, and I, shall remain.

My rise to the fall

My rise to the fall,
the whisper of willowed words waving
in a wind yet blowing,
the calm clarity of surface
dreaming reflections
realities not understood in currents unseen,
lingering on scents mystifying
mice men with miniature mandolins,
playing sweet songs of melodies, I
can’t remember because my former
self forgot to leave a memo to the message
I was suppose to entertain, restrain, and refrain,
across horizons of blue ink and white salted skin;
an impossible poem unwritten.