seven haikus for seventh week
October 26, 2011

It is seventh week.
I am afraid of the end;
it approaches fast.

Anarchism is
radical autonomy.
Can we live that way?

God is just ourselves
held apart from who we are.
Let’s take ourselves back.

I #occupy this
space surrounding my body.
I am a protest.

Disposable cups
are filling up my mind with
caffeine.  I can’t sleep.

My dreams are screenings –
films filled with chases, sex scenes.
Nighttimes are lucid.

Here between the lines
is a cozy place to be.
Inconspicuous.

poetry from the freezer door
June 20, 2011

free verse
May 31, 2011

Living is for this

I have emptied myself too perfectly
of every last childhood reminiscing to be alive,
and as each raindrop falls onto my tin roof,
I am drifting further out to sea
on the puddles welling up in my front lawn
and on the water filling the potholes of my long driveway,
and soon the grass will be completely underwater
and I will walk barefoot through the mud
and let earth push itself between my toes
so that I can feel how the earthworms live.
I have emptied my self of my humanity,
and I don’t want it back because
as I was dreaming while lightning broke the night sky open,
the devil came to me in my sleep
and told me that he tried to cry out
and leave every trace of horror behind
and live in paradise and destroy himself
and care for nothing but the patterns of monarch butterfly wings
but life held him back because what are we
without something to struggle against?
But I am done with suffering.
I have turned in my ticket to the afterlife,
and I have renounced all my humanity
that was tied up in every moral wishing for better
because I am done struggling
against every unseen evil that lies nascent
in the sharp stones of my driveway –
the evils that lie waiting underneath
the tongues of the eight-year-olds
who have known too much for their age
and will let it all loose
when the adults have left to commit their own sins,
but I have emptied myself of the concept of sin.
I give up my guilt.
Guilt is for nothing.
Guilt is for making us feel like we cannot be human,
and so I have given up on being human.
Let me be an animal without words.
Let me live with my toes in the mud.
But oh my God,
how I love to sing.

free verse
March 28, 2011

Swell

I dreamt last night of setting sail
into a blue oblivion of clouds and waves
and the sky above me was the same
color as the misty blueness
beneath my boat and the night sky
and all its brilliant glistening dew drop stars
reflected off the water and I didn’t know
which way was up until I remembered
that gravity was telling me how to stand
and I took up the oars and turned the rudder
in some direction that seemed better
than all the others and rowed almost
until the end of time because in dreams
my arms never wear out but I knew
somehow that if I stopped the boat
made of tulip tree leaves and moss
it would fall apart and I let it
and I was floating between the stars
and the jellyfish glowing beneath me
and I reached up and took a star
out of a constellation and ate it
because I was all empty in my fingers
and it filled my lungs and veins and heart
with a billion brightly burning passions and
I exploded and woke up in moonlight

free verse
March 1, 2011

In the Night (when philosophy is all we have left)

In a dream, you asked me what I was doing.
“Versifying the unspeakable,” I answered
(poetically, dramatically, ever so theatrically).
Your dimples started showing when you laughed at me;
I shouted that Plato
wouldn’t have been such an asshole
(surely, not silently, certain undeniably).
And then, because this is what dreaming is for,
I saw you for yourself
and nothing more.
I saw the secret nature of your very human heart
(and Hobbes would have liked what I saw there).
I saw the
(civilized methodized habituated theorized)
aura of the World as we know it
back away from your brain
leaving nothing
but this animal who lives in my dreaming,
crouching with the other primates in the dark.
“Who’s laughing now?!” I shouted,
but your dimples weren’t showing this time.
And the Form of Plato,
casting shadows in the dark,
floated by, scratched you behind your ear,
shook my hand, and
(magically, quietly, without doubt, verifiably)
winked and disappeared.

I woke up then and,
feeling oh so generous despite your dimples,
gave your Humanity back to you
as you slept, snoring, in the night,
the form of your Form familiar
to the inner nature
of my very human heart,
beating out a rhythm in the dark.