Poetry

The Wheeling Stars

Some people
believe in market forces
believe in factory floors
believe in glass
ceilings and ste(e/a)l
doors,
believe in offshore bank accounts,
believe in those who
trounce the little guy, as if
easy knockouts count as victories.

Still, some people
believe in quarterbacks,
believe in the nickel-and-dime,
believe in working full-time,
overtime,
on time,
all the time,
I really wish it would all

stop.

Well, I believe in
the wheeling stars,
in Mercury and Mars,
I believe in things I
can’t see.
’cause magic is just science that hasn’t been explained
yet,
and wouldn’t it be fun to race a yeti down a mountain?

So I believe in some funky stuff.
And I believe belief is enough
to affect behavior.

That’s why
I’m scared of some people.

Standard
Poetry

A Midday Rant

I’d love
a magic button
to straighten my spine,
and buff out my tendency
to slouch.
The deep sigh, it says I
don’t want to work on Sunday,
I never want to log into
the Bank
of America app again,
I don’t want to wonder
if I can shell out ten bucks
for Burger King
(what is a responsible choice?),
I don’t want to have to repeat
“There is no ethical consumption
within capitalism”
for the ump-millionth time,
yes I piss on company time,
I eat and check dating apps too,
this is how you
com-part-mentalize
a hacked-up soul.

Standard
Poetry

Fire Season

When wind blows smoke over the mountains
and the view from my window clouds up,
my cat climbs her tower
to peer at the strange gray
otherworld outside;
when I leave to run an errand,
and enter that gray to walk to my car,
I hope that my cat
believes me intrepid.

Standard
Poetry

3 AM Chant

I sit on the ground,
resting closer to life.
I lie on the ground,
sinking closer to death.
I daydream in bed
and the dreams never come;
if I quiet my head,
then my breath starts to thrum.
When I open my eyes,
it’s time to get moving.
First, I must close them –
oblivion is soothing.

Standard
Poetry

A Smattering of Thoughts

I would have –
I could have –
Maybe –
I can still be –
a good dad.

“That ship has sailed.”
Where does that phrase come from?

Note to self: if you’re gonna talk shit, talk shit quietly.
Or just, don’t be mean.

ALL THESE YEARS, THE SAME REFRAIN.
What does it take, to make a songbird,
not a mockery?

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