When I awake tomorrow ( Read more... )

What is a thief?
A thief is a dancing man
A man who walks on jarlids
A man whose fingers pad rooftops
A thief is a man who bathes in wind

And what is a theft?
A theft is the rattle of tin cans
The strike of lightning without thunder
A theft is a silent measure, a hand that presses
Against the sky and expects to hold the clouds

What to write, in light of all the hubub going on.  Well, what's more to say than that all is confusion.  Some are concerned, others carefree.  Some say it's a matter of enormity, others declare the virus manageable.  I was chatting with a doctor a few weeks back who seemed to think that it was pretty well under control.  Maybe back then the data ( Read more... )

A daytime drive through the Dolemites ( Read more... )

When then, can the flames take their course?
Summon the calf, and place me in her belly,
And let the coals grow red.
Let there be a thousand thousand coals:
  A coal for lips that lied
  A coal for fingers daring
  A coal for a hear that sheltered demons
Let the steam of stygian coals rise up
And fill these piereced lungs
That breathed such

What would we be left with God,
Should you rob us of our lies?
What use have I for silken cloak,
When words can cloud another's eyes?

Cleanse my tongue of quickness, wit,
Let my poison pen run dry,
Cast my heart in fiery truth
To save it from the gilded lie.

So lonely now ( Read more... )

What is their mark, what is their note ( Read more... )

I really should just force myself to write a poem everyday.  If I want to be a poet I need to write poetry.  I don't.  I don't because I don't want to write a poem that sucks.  But I know I've gotta do it.  Ugh.  I'm tired and my arms and chest are sore and I just don't want to.  Well.  In the spirit of perseverance I'll attempt it anyway ( Read more... )

Who shall laugh at a funeral ( Read more... )