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