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Time Sucks How quickly I lose my love As the pieces of it drop Down like micro mirrorballs; Tiny sparkles floating down and shattering On the roller rink floor.

Love the World You’re In When you read poems in the am, You are guaranteed To cry before noon; Life a spoon serving All of it to you. Cereal to Crunch and pop, Snap and crackle. Someone else’s widowed mother Wanders alone, hand on A porous wall, she stares out To the lashing sea. Next page, a young man, infatuated By a spider’s dexterous geometry, Ignores his own. While nearby, a child Learns of her own mortality, Releases her palm tree valentine, a Beating bleating heart, A

Logophile Poet at the March So many signs. Words Written the day before or Of. Hold them up Above us all. Photos for Instagram activism and The clever meme. Maybe. But I fear the pen. Scribe Letters as symbols of the chaos. I send laser beam Lines. Fines for harm And charms chanted: 3Xs 3Xs 3. Fall to our knees. Scatter The proud ground with prayers Dropped and shattered And confined to earth. Words without thoughts Never to Heaven go.

Art Walk Let’s stroll at the damn; Pretend the world’s not About to tumble over the net- Bobble down currents - lurching to (un) certain Demise. Not really, though. Democracy, dead - for us. But everywhere? And, sure, crispy burning and soggy south - but Some will carry on. Rats, cockroaches, savvy Rabbits. Paint the night sky; Cover up the shooting stars And asteroids we’re always Afraid will clock us. Braze iron. Forge flesh. Leave Sculptures in the dying garden:

Jeffrey Dahmer as Epigraph The body was made soft to keep us from loneliness. ~Ocean Vuong We all seek meaning in histories Told to us. A monster dead six years After your birth, how did you learn The tale of him? A picture book On cannibalism and loving someone - a stranger really - so much You need to consume them. A Place where role models Take shape in whispers From a full freezer or Brutality on the correction Center floor. This is who History allowed out to k

Dry January For Catherine O’Hara It is better to leave Early, your audience still wanting more of you - soft touch, bad joke, homemade family recipe enchiladas. Why would one stick around for a bit - after the show, post curtain call, and politely clapping for the tech crew? There won’t be as many memes then. Shuffling off modestly or slipping away under high thread-count, quiet sheets. Heart declaring it has been boring here without beer or sex or all the reasons I hung arou

Catwoman as Leonine You were the only villain I longed to be. Tight, black leather, Whip. And, oh, those ears! So Soft to the rub. Little girls Are supposed to dream of being The heroine - or even that damsel - Distressed and waiting for rescue. No one confesses the power of In the anti-hero. That, sure, although The audience may despise you On the foamy surface, that under It all they cheer for your demons. Batman Is in love. Bruce Wayne sleeps next To those damsels he has c

I haven't practiced macramé since the early 80's. Someday, this may be a Christmas tree. This took many hours. #familycraftingday

Back Pages Collect words like knick- Knacks, shivering on the last Pages of a notebook. Waiting To come down off the shelf, Out of the storage bin, rise From the cellar - where Each had been deposited. Could I sell you at a White elephant sale? To Young Poets desperate For meaning — clutching At the old clichés — or Not grasping The one of them. Isolated in sleek boxes — Where glaring nothing Rots each hour, Like the crabapples

Mental Load Invisible torture that rules Each day. Mother must Make things move. Missed Appointments and the other Unacceptables. Who can sleep In all this chaos? Need air Supply space cowboy Junkie cookie snacks and Carbon monoxide. Vacuum Up cat fur and dog — Walk. Wake. Shop. Fill stockings and run them. Who can breath or sit down To read a book or look. Remember breakfast nook Puzzles and how your Nana fed you there.

Death Date 'Cause I didn't think this would happen again No matter what I could do or say Just that I didn't think this would happen again With or without my best intentions ~Liz Phair WPCR after-hours crooned from the countertop radio. Friends locked in a sound booth transmitting lyrics Straight to us at your fratless party where he Stood over us so concerned about our Souls. Melting into the sofa or flowing Over and off of it. You kissed me, friend, And I kisse

Wasps How quickly we adjust, For the survival of us. Bought a few more days, Thanks to Climate Change. Terrify her students. Land Upon her wrist. None of us, not even one, Asked for any of this. How quickly we adapt, As men redraw the maps. Buzz against the bulb, It is dead and will not burn. Glide graceless onto hands With pens and sharpened tools. Die upon the rug, Still scaring little ghouls.

How Oddly One Falls One morning, we will wake up Elated at the passing. So little harm at the loss Of one who has done So much of it. There is no Scrooge-like Intervention for someone Who lacks wisdom to be Sorry. Narcissism Is a cruddy business And will leave one Alone and despised; Dancers in the street At your demise. But, isn’t that what He had hoped for The whole time?

ART = AI he says art controls us — moves through us and out — has a “life of its own” — grows like artificial intelligence — but real. emotional intelligence —and fake. ( Read the lines on my face not the memes on my page .) make a move. call your friends. Franz Ferdinand. ( Friends Ferdinand ) the start of a new revolution — the computer generates vacant eyes and false words spoken — but you finger a grasp so painful arthritic pen needle paint brush came

Java Script Let’s do coffee - early, Morn. Discuss politics And romance novels. Let’s drink a cup o’ Joe At the cafe on Main Street Of the pulsing Saturday city. Fresh sweat and the promise Of the market. Add honey, Heavy cream, and sugar. Pour it on me. Forget The woe of the previous Week. A world Melting down. Blowing Up. Slithering along a Mocha Styx. Filtering Grounds for a divorce.

Spaghetti Dinner ~ Inspired by Renoir’s Onions (18181) at The Clark Onions, 1881. Oil on Canvas. Pierre-Auguste Renoir They cut away secrets of the family, peeled each apart and everyone in that kitchen cried. The sauce, so bubbling and ready on that ancient stove. Who would want such meat? Red and over spaghetti, a dinner fit for the undercroft. Each bite charged with juicy garlic bread and the hours spent. Cook your dreams into steam clouds, and the bulbs will strike us

Radio Raheem explains "love & hate" in Lee's Do the Right Thing (1989) Deadly Force Radio Raheem a warning - unheeded. 30 years later, repeated on screens, smaller film, bigger business. Two steps forward, and you know what is next. Same story. Different street. how many cameras how many necks how much suffocation will we watch?

Gut Punch in the Grocery Lane ~ a Golden Shovel after Margaret Atwood Cannot get my hand to my heart in time to be useful every time the surge that I have lost you punches my gut. It is the way now, and only sleep connects us in a world full of failure. An old woman with a cart of strange vegetables and this memory. “To be lost in only a failure of memory.”

Stones in Pocket ~for MM Always the possibility lurks large when you have had enough of this earth this nightmare & magic tragic days to luminous nights fight to keep the inspo baby TikTok promises and AI therapy jump off the tallest building a rooftop bar with a pool over sidewalks and urine hot pink morning sky offers some sort of promise and you take the granite chunk out to save for another