Monday, June 17, 2013


In blindness there is sound.
In sound there is reverberation.
In reverberation I find direction.
The sound of cars stopping,
            Passing me by--
In the cacophony of voices,
Words and phrases disconnected
From all the traffic of tongues,
Stories surrounding me.
            Some are lies.
            Some are true.
It's not up to me to discern
Which is which?
I just capture them,
Preserving them for
A future page,
A line fragment.
Wherever a string of words
Tangles in my mind,
Snagging my elusive attention,
There will, someday soon,
Be a place for these transient
Residents to leap into
Someone else's life.
Beware the silent passerby:
She's observing you,
Taking notes--
She's stealing from you
And you don't even know it.

Copyright (c) 2013 by the author


the phone keeps ringing
at odd times of day,
creditors seeking redress
of their grievances, prompt
payment of the debts they
claim to hold.  they offer
terms--if one would answer
the demanding, ringing phone.
no one is home, though.
or at least, we pretend not to be
present. the telephone may make
its presence known, demand attention.
we just unplug it,
we just turn down the volume
so we won't hear its persistent rings.
Callers cannot reach through to us,
insist that we pay attention--
pay homage--
pay the damned debt.
too many distractions,
too many shows still to see
from the nearest DVR,
too many websites to browse,
too many Youtube videos.
demand never intersects
with consent.

Copyright (c) 2013 by the author


Vodka talking,
First sip turns
The first key to
Loose the demons
Of past and present
Alcohol, in its molecular
Fits the locks installed
By years of repression,
Pushing down--
Compression of memories.
But now, with each glass
Of tasty toxin,
The door opens wider,
And memory never misses
An opportunity to escape
Into the light,
Serrated edges, images
Draw blood
From unsuspecting hearts
With the misfortune
Of proximity.
As doors and windows
Are shoved open,
Walls emerge to block
Out any evidence
When tomorrow's harsh light  arrives
To reveal the damage
Inflicted by pain's stampede--
Words carelessly flung
In the language of fermentation
Started and stopped
So precisely.
Chemistry--once initiated--
Resists recapture by one
Repentant septuagenarian.

 Copyright (c) 2013 by the author