City as Organism [Free Verse]

There are cities 
that grow upon cities,

piling them up 
and spreading them out;
amoeba-like false feet
reaching down the cold run
corridors of transit

Markets grow up 
through the cracks -
some vast and hardy
tumors of commerce
while others are little 
card table kiosks
kicked into corners

The view becomes 
uniform & undifferentiated -
like an ocean,
sprawling to infinity
in all directions;
more complex than the sea
but equal in its
dispiriting sameness

In some room or another,
in that vast repository of rooms,
everything that can happen
is happening --
loving, killing, praying,
torturing, healing, 
and so on

Rooms are the city's cells;
the buildings - its organs;
the neighborhoods - its systems;
and we are but molecules 
in the city's scheme.

Patchwork Lands [Free Verse]

patchwork 
in shades of green, 
beige, 
and rust-red clay

geometries formed
of odd angles

spreading ahead
to the edge of
sight 
& 
imagination

so many fields
in so many states -
yet, all in one
time
&
place

there, I felt
a tad bit infinite,
being stretched
from a stable center
in all directions
as time sprawled
first to last
in no particular order

Quiet Moments of Glorious Perfection [Free Verse]

People pray for 
blinding, deafening
magic.

Instead, they should
make themselves keen
observers of the
mundane miracles.

Those little magic
moments like
seeing a baby's smile
or 
crossing over
a green ridge 
to face a
snow-capped mountain.

Feel these rare moments
to their fullest,
rather than wishing
to be dazzled by 
grand displays of
the supernatural.

Those loud miracles 
will probably never happen,
and - if they do -
one who hasn't become
attuned to hearing the quiet 
moments of glorious perfection
might still miss them. 

Out-of-Body [Free Verse]

I'm floating,
or - perhaps - flowing.

I can't tell
sans gravitational 
pull.

I want to reach
for something 
solid,
but I have nothing
with which to reach.

I want to scream,
but I have nothing
with which to make sound.

So, I'm left to yearn.

All I can do is yearn -
yearn my ass off -
and variations, thereof:

-pine,
-aspire,
-crave,
-wish,
-etc.


The Epicureans
believed in 
soul particles 
[lighter & finer
than body particles]
and I wonder whether 
my soul particles
could knock loose
a feather precariously
balanced on the
edge of a dresser?

Island [Free Verse]

I've lived on islands -
some surrounded by sea,
and some not,

islands of isolation -
cut off and cut out -
fringed with nothingness.

In the quiet of a cave
inside a mountain
on that island
amid the ocean vast,

I found myself 
both on an island
&
being an island.

In Praise of Multiplicity [Free Verse]

Everybody seeks oneness,
but maybe one with everything
is too much,

it's a state in which one is
lost, irrelevant, and unloved -
all at once.

Maybe it's better to be tied
to the mast -
like Odysseus - 
straining to make that dangerous 
connection, 
but unable to, 

the connection of non-connection,
the love of longing,
of trying,
but not of being plugged in --

air-gapped to prevent 
resonance at a frequency
that would shatter one's soul.

Sea Gate [Free Verse]

The gate faced the sea.

It seemed like
a strange place
for a gate.

The sea spray
of crashing waves
flew up to douse
those who passed through.

Which way was in?

Which way was out?

And then I accepted 
that "in" & "out"
were meaningless constructs, 
and that it was a portal
between infinities.

Wide Open Spaces [Free Verse]

out of my cell 
&
onto the trail

i walk the vast expanse,
the vault of heaven above
&
hills of rolling green
beneath my feet

and clouds barge through
blue skies
like thoughts barge through
my mind -

sluggishly
but
inevitably