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It's like, a Fall poem
Although it could be After the Fall
sort of an Arthur Miller descent
with thematic issues
of ethical ambiguity personal integrity
I’m told Winter is coming
but I don’t see it…
maybe a hint a foreshadow
Or The Fall itself,
all Camus-y exploring themes
of innocence, imprisonment,
non-existence truth
Like when I stand after sitting awhile
legs creaky achy
But maybe to everything there is a
season leaves dying fluttering in the wind
chromatically pleasing and that’s Fall too
colorful in a Fall-ish way
Sometimes, I launch my body forward
before my legs seem ready pretty sure they’ll catch up
Published in Spillway
Cyber Back-Forty
somewhere south
of Socorro away from
the prying eyes of
pinkertons the dream
is swept into the web
synapse like it twinkles
and wonders through
bouncing from stream
to stream where sometimes
it traps beaver and sells us
the pelts to make hats
Walking the Dog in a Time of Rage
the minivan screams by horn blaring angry fist out the
window I must have done something wrong
rage has become our discourse our answer anger our
voice sputtering away in the ether on the highways
in the ballot box
we’re driving through a park not a very big one
only one entrance one parking lot we’re both
approaching I wonder if he’s going to the farmer’s market too
my friends online-nip at each other clever quips bite
I pass his vehicle drive to the other side of the parking lot
as far away as possible
this anger swirls inside we don’t know what to do
a white man in his 40s gets out of the van sets his dachshund
down pulls a baseball bat from the back seat looks at me
Marsha and I go look for brussel sprouts but
part of me wants to stay I’m angry too walk over to him isn’t that how
it’s supposed to be celebrate this rage consecrate it with our blood
on the ground flowing
we find yellow squash instead on the other side of the park
there’s the man his dachshund his baseball bat
Published in Spillway
Late Night
the fear
woke me
a shadow
raving blackout
numb frozen
at the edge
afraid to
but wanting to
jump
I have never been
comfortable with sanity
my mother
her body
vacant electro-shock
medicated
my brother
listens to voices
on a mattress
in the corner
of a carport
the fear is
sometimes
a comfort
and inevitably
it welcomes me
home
Published in Solo Cafe and in Phil's book, Rick Sings
Phil reading his poem, Last Night on youtube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0JiXMCsgd78
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