Daily Chores

I prepare
for the day’s infinite possibilities
while a subtle
sense of dread
throbs throughout my body

By setting down
the familiar
true encumbrances:
fear-based misgivings
buzzing like wasps’ wings
building a nest in my mind

With each and every out-breath
I unload
my neck & shoulders
pierced with the pinching pain
of my saddle bag’s
sharp leather strap
with rarely-used
sundry items
purporting to ease
my existential angst

I am released to the day
with hopeful innocence:
placing them down
is daily a challenge
but a chore
to which to tend
with delight

Superlative Singleminded Thick Straight Lines

Pressure to proceed
Along superlative
Singleminded thick Straight lines
Takes a detour
Onto meandering, blossoming
Summer lavender trails
Giving chase to joyous ends
Of heart & mind
Only each
Its beguiling forlorn quest:
To think, to write, to speak
To act
Without restraint

Realization of dreams
Close to the heart
Dear to the mind
Before the world
Accomplishments stacked
Like so many books
Walls overcrowded with trophies & diplomas & moose heads
Become dictators to
Fragile false selves hooked
More by the fawning crowd
Than by forays into acts of
Liberating self-kindness

Fleeing the inconspicuous
Ubiquitous slave master’s
Imposed preposterous perfection
Into the night
With untrue & tired old friends
Rebelling by escape
We vampires
Our hungry tongues
Compulsively lapping
At life’s myriad elixirs
Promising eternal peace
Power & ecstasy

Participating presence in time’s gift:
A life lived…
Well enough
To realize all it fancies
To which most do not dare
To dream of giving flight
Lest they fall paralyzed
Into Fear’s gaping guise of

The most interesting
Slave to perfection
The world has ever known
The master’s perfect dream

Expect Strong Spontaneous Release

Inhaling the force of the on-rushing tidal crests gulping ferociously of their
life-giving molecules hydrogen oxygen
two parts to one
the sea’s expanding chest
of exhalation
in Familiar Functions
the mouth of Krishna
holds an entire universe
on this Royal planet Blue
In compulsive curbless escape
we are lost
unlike the tide’s retreat
knowing her Rhythm
tried & true
to return to us
Seas Swelling terrestrial rising of torso the continents its ribs to protect fragile Liquid Lungs with each inhalation we’ve come to Expect Strong
Spontaneous Release
of the sweet &
mighty orb’s
more CO2
than oxygen
Are we not unlike our lovely
free-Spinning Mother-home
in Space
half in the dark
to repeat her cycle
Living & Breathing
through yet another

The Dogs’ Bone

Of what I’d thought I’d wanted

of My desire
under some
Self-serving Svengali’s spell

I realized
that What I’d thought I wanted
Had become
The Bone
of The Dogs
Of which
We hear tell

Clutching closely
Mere consideration of
Reluctancy’s relaxing grip
Acknowledging Bone’s
Undeniable potential
Of wielding greater power
Over me
than I over it

Within queasy
Ready reach
of Its devouring Seductive Essence
the Bone stole away
in the deep of the night
leaving unspoken
but the hollow callous frank
of abandonment’s

The years then did pass
17 to be exact
Until the dog understood What had happened
that What he had wanted
had Changed in his sleep
by Unknown
& Mystical

Wantonly driven
by Hero’s need,
to Achieve
in as Fleeting
a thought’s moment
as the Rhythmic
Flutter-Humming bird’s wing,
lighted a

the Years of
with Assuredly its ensuing angst,
Wasted moments
Wishful clinging
to a Bullish
canine Claw reunion
with his
Juggernaut friend

the time is past
for Hubris
& unchecked klingen
like the final fatal bite
Of the honey bee’s
the bones
of the Dog
Far Beyond the Crush
of his one last grasp
At self-deceiving

Carrying Peace on My Shoulders

Dizzying Compression
Independently Orbiting eyes
Pressing against
my Forehead
Like kernels of Corn
About to Pop
Into full
Golden-white splendor

Aches & Pains
Fevers, chills
Leaving Now
Their subtly Unequivocal
Memento Mori
Like a weeklong’s
The meditation bowl’s
My vulnerability
To self-fugue’s
Ecstasies and Afflictions

Having known
In Erin’s
Denying reality
Of Self-Evasion
Like unpaid taxes
The IRS is sure to come aknockn’
We eventually learn
Not to repeat our mistakes

In the moment
In the world
To which I belong
Feeling it’s a Good
And Right place
With conspicuously
Less Retreat
Intermittent Foray
Into Camps
of Workable joy & Cradling melancholy

A place in heaven
Here on Earth
Feels like the world’s Peace
Is Sitting on my Shoulders

These Are The People I love

I love the people
With whom I feel free
To experience
My deepest pain
For these are the people
With whom I feel free
To express
My Abandoned Joy

I love the people
With whom I feel free
To reveal
My unmasked fears
For these are the people
From whom I feel free
To gather
Strength and
Unflappable confidence

I love the people
With whom I feel free
To cry
An abundance of tears
For these are the people
With whom I feel free
To bellow
In Raucous laughter

I love the people
With whom I feel free
To roar
Like a lion my anger
For these are the people
With whom I feel free
To snore Gently
In dreamless Slumber

I love the people
With whom I feel free
To live
My life with genuity
For these are the people
From whom I Dread Leave
In the looming
Abyss Of Goodbye

Tired Old Friends, Coconuts and Hurricanes Have A Lot To Teach Us

Tired of Tired Old Friends
Resisting change and life
No matter how taut by Inflammation And Dried by alcohol And cigarettes And cocaine their Voices and nasal Passages become

No matter how much they resent their Partners, parents, children, the Economy,
For their unrealized Dreams,
Their boredom and sense of Feeling Untethered, unloved by life

No matter how encumbered they find Themselves by their inner discord, Disorder, Refuse, frustration, Disappointment,
Living in a barrel Alongside Diogenes
Seems to be lost on
Tired Old Friends
No matter how much notice
Life gives them about the urgency to Evolve

Like a category 5 hurricane
Charging directly into the wide flat Middle
Only disintegration results
When Tired Old Friends repudiate life’s Terms
With a rigid stance

Much better to be a coconut palm
That gives against mighty Gale Force Winds
To ensure its survival to
Live another day of possibilities

Fear of Vulnerability

“You may grow anxious if you believe that someone is trying to control you in some way. But your fear might be based on the realization that you don’t have all the answers today. Instead of acting with false bravado or using smooth words to impress others, be honest and show your vulnerability. Oddly enough, admitting what you don’t know opens the door to real intimacy and stronger relationships.”

Horoscope for: 2/28/13, from:
The Daily Horoscope iPhone App

Fearing dearth of information
States my daily divination
O mighty cause of consternation
Vain attempts at obligation
Of my own omnisciation

To feign control,
Largesse of sagesse
Amongst other pirouettes
My greying head
passing ripe
Implodes like my bunching fingers
Into a fist
Or pops like corn
On funeral pyres
Of prideful indignation

Like Ed Sullivan:
“Ladies and gentlemen,
It is with pleasure that
I now release to you:
My fear-hewn pride !”

Do I fear being controlled at the points in my life when I feel most unsure about my next move, perhaps?????

It feels vulnerable not to know.

Escape and Pterodactyls in The Supermarket at Sandornam

Pushing past compulsion
To visit a favored cocoon
A place called Dbar
I circled the dingy dark

Rain and snow combining
To create a third element
Of hellishly cold
Late winter Black slush

Block by block
Stocking the streets
For distraction,
Until eyeing the poorly-light
Poorly-advertised Supermarket

It looks new, I thought,
And very strange!
Not a chain, that’s obvious.
With signs written in black ink
By fastidious hand
Welcoming new customers
In English, Vietnamese, and Spanish

A foreign world inside
Of freshly caught fish and fowl
Of all shapes and sizes and colors
On tall heaps of newly chipped dull-white Ice
Of fruits and vegetables
Of all shapes and sizes and colors
In home-crafted wooden bins

A middle-aged Latino man
Stocking shelves
Who spoke no English
Like Carol Merrill with outstretched Digits
Demonstrating today’s showcase
Of cash and valuable prizes
Highlighted the location
Of what felt like too many tiny cans Of jugo
Marked in quoc ngu

But no usual infinite array
Of designer glass-bottled hybrid Combinations
Of organic blueberry, cranberry
And Pomegranate juices
Like the ones on display
At Whole Foods’ and Foody’s

A checkout lady not days shy of 80 With blue black hair
A vulnerable, warm, welcoming smile
Noticeably very few teeth
And even less English
So when did you open?
I asked,
Only slightly invested in the answer

She responded with lightning speed
Left Pointer-finger shooting into Midair
Shrugged shoulders
Opening her mouth to repeat
Of the inviting Facial maneuvering
Of flexed Muscles near each end
of Her Meager mouth
Modeling her one remaining
cracked Yellowed front tooth sharpened by time

I understood she didn’t understand
But then in as high-pitched a screech
As your ears can imagine
One that made my face pucker in on Itself
Like only biting into one of Micky’s Very Green very aged sour pickles
Can Succeed in replicating

In an Asian language
Surmised to be Vietnamese,
A high-pitched guttural male voice
Echoed from the balcony
Overlooking the accidentally-Arranged Pushcarts
Of the town square’s vendors’ Market
Somewhere between San Juan and Hanoi

Mimicking shrieking bellows
Of incoming Pterodactyls
In the deep dark jungles
Of Saturday mornings’ animation:
Johnny Quest
In heavily-austroasiatic-accented English,
DecembeL !

Now better understood
Its method of communication
The lingua franca of this singular Dimension
Between Dot Ave and WW St.

The driving impulse broken
My attention now shifted
From the desire
To escape
Life’s angst
To this strange and present moment

To the impossible possibilities
Of Marriage
Among fish, fruit, fowl, vegetable,
The residents of Sandornam
And the momentary reprieve
From the seduction of
My impending Departure