Some do not
Sobered by
the unavoidable,
unlike old men
who decorate
their memories,
some do not
redress the past
or change their tears
to pearls —
or foil the living truth
as though a beauty
brushing by
has blinded them
with scorn.
Nothing wasted
Kneaded
from the stuff
we call our brains,
a fabric
of wrong things,
a smugness
of highest thoughts
and lowest stains,
incongruities
are the nature
of the beast
we are pleased
to suffer
and call the world.
Le pendu
Walked to a hanging
mere poets depend
on their weaknesses.
A thousand tears
bring them closer
to no truth of yours
or mine or anyone’s
even if Piaf sang them.
The soon-to-be corpse
did not dance with bells
on its toes like death’s
marionette. It died
motionless in the air
with hell on its breath.
Quantum words
Stealthy quantum words
phantoms of expectation
and suicides of time
riddle us
with springs
and traps.
Self-delusion
streaming what we breathe
we who breathe in silence
bearing witness
like ancient beacons
of fading light
holding worlds
together & apart.
Against Conciliation
Joys that children know
before the years have taken them —
before age and grief scald their eyes
with burning tears —
bring happiness without remorse.
But even sweetest lies
(the bright vermillion
of wayward litanies and disbelief)
wear out the bond of trust.
And humiliation
so withholds relief
that the cauldron of despair
is unbearable though brief,
a silent empire against conciliation.
Mortal coil
The coffeehouse loop
that never ends
sounds heavenly
among the laptoppers.
Failure is not an option.
The fanfare of the horns
and the swell of the hi-hat
roll on like spooky dreams.
Fingers dance —
they fly like bats in a cave.
The gods if there are any
protect us
until closing time.
And then we rattle off.