Poems

Dog walking

They gather to walk dogs. But the dogs would rather wrestle and chase. Neutered animals still desiring to play act at the game of “something’s on the line.” Do the dogs know where they’re headed? No. They haven’t a care in the world – except for the next squirrel, the next bunny, the next participant …

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Open book

I’m an open book, he says. But his book is full of coded poems, only open for the thinking.

Biology

In the biological outer world, we’re all out here, playing in the gully because of sex. That’s it. A game that wants to be rebooted to see if anything more cool can come of this. Any more Einsteins? Any more Mozarts to make some noise?

Lonely one

Once the story stops, the lonely days cease. A narrative clipped. Evidence ground away by pulling back to see what actually is. Grinding to dust something that was never there. Lonely as story. One as truth. One as caving in hole. An “O” of water circling a drain. A natural arcing spin, a knowing of …

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Who are you, J?

And who do you think you are, J? Acceptable answers would have been: God, the watcher, or ‘not J.’ All the other stuff – the roles and the masks – not so much.