The Snows of KilimanjaroAs I sit here in my cozy room, I wonder about the snow that falls outside of my window. It's so annoying, I have to shovel it, and it's cold; however, it's also the purest white I've ever seen. Oh, snow, what would it be like to BE you?
How Mothers Leave UsDecember dusk in Lawrence; longest night of the year and lights go on above the blackened road. Children's shrieks - praises to the sun god - dwindle, are replaced by the murmur of engines revving on the highway just one block over.How Mothers Leave Us
My mother is finally dead.
In the deepening blue of night, I wonder why I am still there. It has been years, but the smell of the place – old cigarettes and Irish coffee – arrests me. A stucco painting of the Holy Spirit represented by flames atop the Disciples' heads looms on the wall
Ritual Killing of my Child SibRitual killing of my child siblingRitual Killing of my Child Sib
He charged me like a one-ton bull, deranged, afraid, eager. But instead of waving a red gold embroidered capote
I held a weed-whacker in my dream, blades whirling full speed. It was difficult at first to stay still while metal ground on flesh, then bone, his blood spurting out covering my face in warmth as I stood unblinking, but grew easier until all that was left to cut was air.
For a moment all was still - the smell of rusted metal fresh with blood clung to the air, the sound of gnashing steel and brea
Tireless LaborerAnts, thousands of ants hungrily making their way from point A to point B as though the log were a carcass whose viscera they were slowly devouring with each tiny contraction of their mandibles. Tirelessly they work, determinedly they march ahead with attenae always flailing right and left keeping the ants moving forward because sight is a luxury for which they have no need.Tireless Laborer
What is their purpose? When will these insects stop their parade? It is a parade like the ones you see in the city, the ones at Easter in Spain with Christ on the cross with his side oozing blo
Dam on the River HermeneuticaPut your calipers away, now. We could paddle here for weeks In these kayaks, on this river, In mapped currents behind this dam. We could search through dusty textbooks Musty facts, praying history Repeats again until forever, That caution breeds the wiser man. We could strain our ears to listen To the whispers of the waters And beg the blue for the lowdown. We'd theorize elaborately About how many fish would die Or villages below us would drown When the stream again flows freely; Or we could slide up to the dam, Swing the hammer, see what happens.Dam on the River Hermeneutica
| And the walls will be laden with the blood of trees. Please save the Earth before it's too late! |
Bemused
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Embrace this moment. Remember: we are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.
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Embrace this moment. Remember: we are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.
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