Back to Simple Light

Between the outside and inside panes,
the spider spins up the bug. Child like,
and still wanting more death,
we can’t stop studying the rhythm of the legs.
They needle, like love, a sac around the body,
weaving it round and round the frame.
But a steady pulse of green emits freely still
from what must have been its mind—
slowing with every flash and less predictable,
the beginning seems nearly complete.

Wrongs We Don't Feel Need Correcting

We put aside our vows
and take up arms. For prayer.

For contemplation. To forgive you
I must absolve you. Who am I

to absolve you? I imagine there are people
who know nothing of what's happening.

China is US. We watch documenatries.
We put aside our vows to take up arms.

These Things Are Still New

I just imagine mourning
(the time of day, I mean).

He's a great poet.
I mean he's honest
and beautiful.

You're a lot more into fame
than you're willing to see.
Like we make death
about us, we make fame
about us too. When we can.

Morning is my favorite.
Dusk is exciting too.
Except for the urgency.

Nobody mourns the loss
of light but us. We dread
the light sometimes
(but not the morning)
because it makes us
aware that we are
(like waves) endless.

I dreamed that I was killing someone.
Then I found out the person was in on it.

An Imitation

These faces passing the crowd,
but not one beautiful
more than the others.

Just Tales

The Dog Tells A Tale Of A Following Tail (An Allegory Or Two)

The Woods--Afraid To Move

Needing People, Hiding From Them