Network upgrade seems
to be going smoothly till
users start crying.
Second Sunday, Standard Time
The evening falls hard at five o’clock,
Twelve hours after waking up in darkness.
I’ve spent the week too busy to work on time,
or understanding how it falls on me.
Only today have I seen the pink dawn
on the last red rose in her neglected garden.
Haiku: First Day in New House
First day in new house:
nothing found in cabinets
web is all the same.
The Dream of Being Pulled Over While Thinking About a Poetic Idea
is in turn pedestrian and incoherent until I admit what I was doing.
I’ve rejected making a joke about the Affair of the Fourteen
confrontational, obscure
and the NPR podcast I heard about the rhyming police blotter in New Hampshire
cops seem to hate hearing about how it is up north
“Well, what was the poem?” he says, having swept my car with the flashlight
for guns, pot, notebooks – coming up empty.
“Well, as of now it’s:
blue light like the man
coming to tell me take it
easy in the moment.”
“That’s one too many syllables,”
he sighs, handing me my license.
“Slow it down, and replace
‘in the moment’ with something
that’s not a cliche.”
Levels of Abstraction
Is This Glass Half Empty, Half Full, or Twice as Large as it Needs to Be?
is the question on a Volvo passing me at ninety,
while I’m running at the speed limit,
tailgated by a truck with a cross on the rear-view.
The Volvo also tells me, quickly, that the owner’s son
Is an Honor Student at Something Middle School,
something impressive, I’m sure, but the tailgater
has passed me, showing that he
Stands Up for something
and Yeah, it’s Got a Hemi.
We’re all three doing philosophy
at different levels, I suppose,
my bumper blank of opinion.
Kölner Dom Domfenster
“Found” Line-sestina: Cologne Cathedral’s Stained Glass Window, Gerhart Richter, 2007
It could have well been placed in a mosque or a synagogue.
– Cardinal Meisner, archbishop of Köln, objecting to the commission of the window. Continue reading “Kölner Dom Domfenster”
People as Points of Aggregate Data
There is a way people get smaller
as points of aggregate data.
Individual cracked tile fragments
forming a mosaic, one you may not like
Until you catch the glittering translucence
of one.
Direction
It was always such a lonely road
horses cars bicycles then in later years
mostly pickups and tractors
I never saw no one who wasn’t
from around here until
the people came with little screens on the windshield.
Slick sports cars eighteen wheelers
drivin’ hard to get somewhere else
I had one stop to walk up to my porch
laughing – is this the road to Destin?
you’ve got to be kidding, old man.
I said I didn’t know – I’d never been.
poetrytech 