The Sunday Dispatch 4.28.24

[consequential drift]

mirrors in the mind’s eye
crack with miles and memory

shadows gather 
in the hutch of slumber

mining the subterranean wanderings 
of distraction deployed

to uncover words without song

and the truth between 
the dotted lines of life. 
*  
[of stones and stars]

searching for the matter of meaning
thru the atoms of words

setting the stage for connection
thru a carefully confined solitude

curating the cosmos 
down to the bare minimum

on a single plain
the page of life

where everything 
is written

always on its way 
to becoming something else.
*
[one after another]

a break in the chain
can slow the toll

as the dead days 
pile up in the abyss

no memory but the lack thereof

the blood and the blur
the rush and the flash

year by year
side by side

this is not the only way…   

step out of line
and save yourself

there is no one else who can.
*
[spatial awareness]

of matters dark 
and turning

down thru the strands 
of spun dna

the blood flow of stardust 
thru earthbound tributaries

holds a conscious mirror 
to the faults of existence

as we look everywhere
but within

for someone to blame.   
*
[more of the same]

etching out a presence
beyond the known and forgotten past

still leaves familiar shadows cast
upon the path to a higher ground

heeding echoes once fallen deaf
of chances no longer slim 
begging to be taken

knowing now
that nothing was ever in the way
but me.         
***
“Our spirits have their own private
way of understanding each other, of
becoming intimate, while our external persons are still trapped in the commerce of ordinary words, in the slavery of social rules.”
-	Luigi Pirandello

The Sunday Dispatch 4.21.24

[bright lights and holy hells]

from nowhere inside
to everything gone

no middle ground
no burning bridges

just the emptiness 
of every obvious thing 
that matters not

bearing down 
on the broken bones 
of love.
*
[spark to ignition]

so many years
sputtering thru the darkness

void of impetus 
or destination

gone from the jump
into the black waiting night

curled up in a 
corner of the mind

contemplating the dreadful shadows
that haunted every move i could never make.
*
[pull me out]

i had fallen
countless times
without ever being caught

so then i had the bright idea
of repeatedly diving in

head first
over and over

and after climbing 
from all the ensuing wrecks
i’ve now quietly decided

to just sit right here
writing and waiting

for love to come find me

the odds are quite slim
but so is my patience

for any other way.
*   
[age and beauty]

though we cannot earn our time
since there really is no telling 
when it will cease

we can do our best 
to be worthy of it

even as we dangle from 
its preciously precarious thread

there is triumph over every hill

and to graciously accept 
the fact of our inevitable end

while still pursuing our passions
is exactly what is needed

to give our very existence meaning
until that end arrives.
*
[signs of life]

somewhere in the madness
buried beneath the conditioned routine 
of live, work, die

something else screams

do not let this 
fall on deaf ears
for many it speaks 
the only truth worth heeding.
***
“Suspect your own motives, and
all excuses. Do not live for others
any more than you would expect
others to love for you.”
-	Christopher Hitchens

The Sunday Dispatch 4.14.24

[a place apart]

a hunger out of time
immortal in its yearning

mired in uncertainty 
and ordinary-ness

ever reaching toward 
the edges of the unknown

to find the missing 
piece of memory

that makes 
life worthwhile.
*
[nightly bread]

all that matters forward
strip-mined of all but necessity

if only simplicity 
was in my wheelhouse

thoughts crammed 
with nonsense and distraction

focus shot to hell

i veer wildly 
from deep concentration 
to utter incoherence

but here, now
the words my anchors

the page my panacea
my sustenance, my salve

my bridge of solitude
to safely get me

from one hellish day 
to the next.  
*
[my mind is a dangerous neighborhood]

aimless
on the same sleeping path
i often wander

blank and familiar

the blur of life 
in fading light

down the restless hillsides 
of dreadful anticipation

toward the broken heart 
of a burning city

with all the other strays. 
*
[all the uncounted days]

gathering the ashes
only to be scattered again

our life so slowly 
becomes our death

the final empty space

expected but often 
arriving unannounced

lulled into some strange 
sense of a doomed forever

as the wheel grinds 
us down to nothing

and our time
finally come 
to go.   
*
[it’s only happiness]

struggling with a slight oblivion

strung from the balcony 
like broken xmas lights in april

there’s a strange comfort in mourning

that lay quietly beneath 
the armor of the heart

waiting 
for a smile 
to crack.
***
“Sleep is a hint of lovely oblivion.
When I am gone, completely lapsed
and gone and healed from all
this ache of being.”
-	D.H. Lawrence

The Sunday Dispatch 4.7.24

[the city to the sea]

the silver sky split wide
as the heavens fall thru

crashing to the ground 
in a symphony of sparks

the streets run with blood
as the saintless sinners scatter
drunk on the spoils of war

the survivors remain opposed
fearless, fighting, and faithful

until their numbers 
are none.   
*
[the distance within]

pulled from the precipice
by the urgency of longing

to cross 
the burning bridge 
of lonely echoes

if only to be stranded
in the intimate strangeness

of our own abyss.  

[everybody’s got their monkey]

all the kings men

all the women that played catwoman

all the young dudes
all the girls that want to have fun

and all across the grand spectrum in between
in all the gin joints in all the world
have one thing in common

a hiding place deep in the heart
where they keep their warmest and brightest light

until they find someone 
worthy of their shine

some of us keep dousing it 
with gasoline until it burns us alive

others swallow enough darkness 
to make them forget it was ever there

still others feed it luxury and lust 
and ego until it is emptied of all meaning

some just bleed until 
it grows dim enough to ignore

but rest assured
no one’s got it figured out

least of all the ones 
who tell you they do.   
*
[of grief and gratitude]

no sun for days
my room a grave for this heart

in all its loneliness 
and longing

far removed 
from the glory of youth

better suited for 
a triumphant twilight

should it ever choose to arrive.
*
[disseminated]

pieces of me 
remain

every place
i’ve ever been

and with everyone 
i’ve ever loved

so if i never 
seem all together

it’s because 
i am always 
everywhere
else. 
***
“There is a divine restlessness
in the human heart. Though are bodies
maintain an outer stability and consistency,
the heart is an eternal nomad.”
-	David Whyte

The Sunday Dispatch 3.31.24

[you are here to risk your heart]

no easy way
no life worth living

without the harshness 
of a hundred winters

sometimes all at once

but that is what makes 
love so grand

despite all the breaking, 
the falling, the hurting
we go on…   

it is for that reason alone
we must. 
*
[in this light]

sparse and unrelenting
a keyhole in the abyss

a way out
a way in

let not the mind 
dictate your way

life is not a belief
but an entity within

through which the universe
may witness its own existence.
*  
[out of tune]

marred by intangibility

nothing mattered 
nothing held

only without 
do we know peace

a long unfathomable 
dream sublime

lost to the learned grasping
for anything within reach.
*
[dust and the narrowing way]

the later it gets
the choices lessen

but the burden the same

the darkness comforts, as always
but the light seems better somehow

softer and more accessible

maybe just a trick of life
or the joke of death

that the closer i get 
to settling in

the nearer i come 
to the end.
*
[get it over]

long as gone can be
always back around

to broken squares 
once removed

in vicious circles
taut by turns of fate

pulled from lonely ends
to walk the constant edge

of love’s last nerve.   
*
[rapture in resignation]

only after years and years 
of breaking and wanting

of emptiness and challenge
of love and death

can you realize
that it is not until 
you are fully whole

that you can 
bear the weight 
of true solitude.              
***
“I had to sink to the greatest
mental depths, to thoughts of
suicide, in order to experience grace.”
-	Hermann Hesse

The Sunday Dispatch 3.24.24

[this deep]

beneath the waves
surface unreachable

broken reflection
a shimmer of shadows

adrift in the ocean
of an unyielding abyss

knowing a smile 
could crack the sky

yet completely 
unable to oblige.
*
[how i bleed]

most of my life 
has been spent
in small dark rooms

writing words 
i can’t seem to say 
out loud

this is how i scream
this is how i cry

how i break 
and how i mend

this is how 
i’ve told you i love you
a million times

and how i stifle the fear
of never hearing it back.
*
[destination farewell]

fathomless depths
where which we bury 
the thoughts of losing 
our most beloved

a trance-like wandering 
toward an unforgiving mortality
that somehow blindsides us
all the while

knowing full well
we are nothing if not all headed
to our very own holes 
in the ground.
*   
[counting scars]

sometimes the nights 
swallow me whole

after the words are down
and the end weighs upon me

the loneliness and the longing
the untetheredness and the freefall

the grand sum 
of all the empty hours 
waited in vain

for the only thing 
ever really wanted.
*   
[blue wish]

nothing means 
everything to me

the empty spaces 
between the rest

the long nights 
away in the dark

far from the peopled tracks 
of greed and ruin

basking in the simple saving grace
of an untouched solitude. 
* 
[press play]

sweet release

music minds the mood
as words mine emotion

beneath the surface
faceless value reclaimed

reused for the purpose of exposure

the wounds displayed
to heal and learn

from strangers i’ve never known
speaking directly to my heart;

no one ever goes it alone.   
***
“There are no beautiful surfaces
without a terrible depth.”
-	Friedrich Nietzsche

The Sunday Dispatch 3.17.24

[the lure of the cave]

a simple space
of organized clutter

books, tables, 
shelves, desk

everything in its right place 
or pretty close to it

dim lighting, 
and the bright glow 
of the waiting page

i was never one for travel
outside the mind, anyway… 

i’ve taken enough trips to know

i’m best left
to a small room

plucking words 
from the shadows

in candlelight and solitude.
*
[in all fairness]

the tables turn 
beyond our control

spinning truth 
out into the abyss

while chaos holds 
the center in place

it is what we are 
and what we have come from

and for some
the furthest place 
from where we want to be.
*
[now when here is not]

blockchained to secret sources
imaginary photos retouched

gold dust 
scattered in the ether
there for the taking

invisible in the light
divisive in darkness

every piece a master
every master a slave.
*   
[happenstance and quarrel]

torn between 
tearing and mending

everything around us 
goes away the longer we stay

having no choice in the matter
why not just love who remains

over 
and over and 
over

until we go.
*
[soul craft]

you did not ask to be born
nor did the sky ask you to arrive

yet here we are
embedded in the mystery

trying to understand as best we can
why it is better to love than hate

better to help than hurt

but one cannot seek 
by standing still

nor find the path 
without taking a step

the answers are 
far from the mind

go there.   
***
“You are an aperture through 
which the universe is looking at
and exploring itself.”
-	Alan Watts

The Sunday Dispatch 3.10.24

[hold the line]

brushed away

the restless sea recedes
the shore surrenders

the moon 
conducts the symphony 
from above

yet still we seem 
to have learned nothing

from all the beauty
and harmony around us

as we bomb and 
maim and kill 
and hate

smiling for the cameras
while doing ourselves in.
*   
[port of call]

stunned by 
the silence

of dark ships 
upon the horizon

they come for me

i know not 
how much time 
is left

as their shadows 
grow longer in the setting sun.
*
[the last of the first, the first of the last, and everything in between]

time takes me
down to the river

to see 
my muddled reflection 
in crystal clarity

to hold my heart 
in its hands 

like a butterfly
in love with the rain.  
*
[for someone, somewhere]

if you’re ever walking by
and see a red light behind my curtains

please feel free to knock

i’ll just be writing about the difference
between loneliness and solitude

between love and nothing 
that ever comes close

between unrequitedness 
and the unrelenting ache 
of longing unfulfilled

and i could probably 
use your company…   

but just you, 
and only you

no one else.  
*
[index of maladjustments]

count lost
forgotten when

worn as badges now
maybe red flags to others

but no matter

i’m still here despite 
my previously destructive inclinations

unbeknownst to me
every time i fell

i was learning 
how to fly. 
***
“When the past makes you laugh
and you can savor the magic that
let you survive your own war
You find that fire is passion
and there’s a door ahead, not a wall.”
-	Lou Reed

The Sunday Dispatch 3.3.24

[the living frontier]

seek not 
the furthest edges 
of joy

but cherish the letting 
of small victories unfold

leave be what comes
to run its course

bridging the distance
between the presence of grace

and the consolation 
of its absence. 
*
[stuck inside]

covered cracks 
flaked with gold

still this emptiness 
rests within

a hole in the whole

surrounded 
by a dull aching armor
rusted with longing

slowly crumbling 
beneath the weight

of all this nothing.
*
[through the glass looking]

shifting corners
blurred at the edges

nary a dream within reach

the heart 
cracked and golden

further and further removed
from love once known

returned to one
to endlessly remain. 
*
[the dead weight of my lonely bones]

this vessel tired
too much time
both gone and ahead

if not to be in love
then maybe best not
to be at all

as fading hope 
fills my tattered sails

i hang my heart 
from the crow’s nest

and sink like a stone.        
*
[one from nothing]

missing tonight
from the heart of the storm

a slow goodbye looms
in the wings of shadows cast

here before
here again

far too close to never
to ever dream of always

if there is hope on the horizon
please let my soul surrender

until it comes. 
*
[good to go]

caught in the waiting haste
as twilight ticks closer

as some strange ends 
seem to need to be tied

fitting or fucked
either way or none

too long this life
to stand alone in the rain
laughing like a madman

with an armful of poems, 
a heart full of hollow

and no end in sight.  
***
“All great and precious things are lonely.”
-	John Steinbeck  

The Sunday Dispatch 2.25.24

[no promises]

delusional, 
at best, we are

with our wishes 
and guarantees 
and hope and plans

there is nothing definite 
but the trickery of the mind

to have us believing 
that tomorrow will arrive.  
*
[given and gone]

desire 
dances 
naked

behind 
burning 
curtains

once offered 
and taken

leaves an echo 
in the hollows of bone

surrounding the fortress 
of the heart.
*
[every eye]   

perception askew
from inside locked doors

from small minds 
will come small worlds

with no room for change 
or natural progression

evolution must have no end

keep learning
keep growing

keep leaning forward 
into the next and the next 
and the next

to be an open 
and understanding soul

in the world at large
is the greatest hope 
for a more peaceful, or 

quite honestly, any, 
future at all.   
*
[every other answer]

tripwires triggered

a slow avalanche 
of tension ensues

comparison conquers 
common sense

emotions muddled 
in the fray

wishes weighed 
against proffer

to settle 
for contentment

or continue to strive 
against the odds.
* 
[down in the out]

ever rounding 
blind corners

as frequencies hail 
from the emptiness

thinking thought not 
of hope’s end

but it seems 
to be creeping up
at an alarming pace

with years and years of no one
nights and nights of nowhere

i sometimes begin to fear 
the deepest, bluest ruin

still remains to be seen.
*
[hand over fist over heart]

words fall
rattling down 
the wires

tripped from vision
on waves of thought

clenched and caressed
forged from broken 
stones of emotion

pieced together anew
upon the fading page.
***
“When everyone has realized
that their birth is a defeat, existence, endurable at last, will seem like the day after a surrender, like the relief and the repose of the conquered.”
-	Emil Cioran