magic

life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis

life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal

life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and

cannot be predicted
by forecast or made
meaningful

no
life is unkempt
windblown
bedraggled

life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist

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the telling

Those who survived terrific and terrifying scenes of yesterday, survived simply in some cases today and tomorrow by not telling. Like authority or ego outgrowing itself — the truth was irrevocably exposed, and one could feel so out of place. Not making sense, all sense falls away…no grammar, no ruler, no rules. no meticulous edit. no beta.need.care.anymore. without any closure you-they-it has and have found recourse to-from…above-below…this. the very end. the beauty in live-to-tell was not in the telling. it was in not telling. or. surviving and not needing to tell. for now, you and all you have been through are known if not cherished.

who you are

My sweater has holes in it and you will not forgive me
I tell you I bought it this way and now you really cannot forgive me
I tell you I lied

I made it

I cut these holes with knives

when I was bored
You stop blinking and stare

Trying to smoke
me out

I shrug and pour myself a cup of coffee
I’ll never be who you want me to be
And I forgive you
You seem to always have that look

On your face

In my kitchen
It’s who you are

flashes

flashes of pixel and chrome

The rivulets widened to small streams from slipstreams, then converged into rivers, and the leaders all washed away from one another on a tide of nationalist foam. votes cast for nuclear disarmament gone up in brilliant flashes of pixel and chrome. maybe subconsciously the world wanted to blow itself away. if it was unconscious, did that make it okay? the thought was alarming, so we encased it in plastic and sent it to sea. it looked good in navy. uncompromised. salt water couldn’t seem to break it down. permanent as a nike swoosh to the face. on a forehead. on a lace. demonstrably positioned yet so poorly placed.

the lucky ones have no phones

the lucky ones

our technology was killing us a little bit each day, and the lucky ones had no phones. i saw a lone wolf pay phone in the city outside a restaurant by a busy intersection. remember how we used to get on then off these phones? you dropped a quarter in and set the world aside for a few minutes. when you hung the receiver up there was a chime, the change fell and you could scoop it out with one finger into your palm. look up and the world was right there for you, confrontation, and you wanted to face everything. you were in it! we didn’t know any different back then. we were the lucky ones. i wanna be lucky like that again. i’m gonna keep this crap phone and this crap service as long as i possibly can, until i’m so sick of it i won’t ever pick it up unless you need me.

salt whispering

salt whispering of the great sea change


She knew the siphoning to be as surreptitious as it was dangerous down the river a ways, where community and real estate parted, where souls were handed off shamelessly to areas unincorporated and lesser know than a cold case file in a sub-basement archive a steep fall off the side of a paper trail, where who knows? met who cares? in the quicksand of the lost. shoelaces, cell phones, rolling papers, broken glass, one-eyed jacks, matchbooks with names scrawled into them, worry stones, loose change. there, gathered en masse, were those who frightened her by their differences, ghosts, salt whispering of the great sea change.