Talking around the block with no one near
but me, my sometime friend,
I think of events that punctuate our lives
and how, as a kindness deep in the nature of things,
death brings the sentence to an end.
How many of us, though,
when vessels break and minds misconstrue,
will say inside ourselves that we'd rather be dead
except that we're scared ( Read more... )

April 19. Sunday. Uncommonly warm.
The Times details signs of the coming collapse,
tells of a generation of casual killers
making its way past puberty in small towns,
of lakes and rivers all the fish are gone from,
reports the prayers of women with covered faces
who beg for the end of war, the return of their sons,
and gives the financial ( Read more... )