So they say

It’s a wrestling match,
A gaming world worthy of GTA –
Me on this side of the screen,
You there just beyond
My palms poised to release
The nimble cohort of finger tips
Just as soon as you appear on
The horizon and my visual cortex
Registers the image and sends
An impulse to tap the triggers
And capture you for all eternity
In a medium mightier than a sword
Or so they say

These drops

These drops on the old pavement
Are achingly familiar –
Their shape, smell, texture, color
All bear a peculiar symmetry
To my dreams
I squint and examine them
With microscopic attention
A vague notion gets beached
On the shore of my consciousness:
They are what went missing that
Afternoon in August, and how is it
It hadn’t occurred to me to look for them?

I wish

I wish I could
I wish I could fall hard
In love with something
Outside
But I am all
Fallible, broken
And god is an idea
Seeping out of my cells
Like steam from a manhole
And what if the
Spaceship Enterprise
Did its samba in
God’s nose?
What if warp speed is just
One blink of god’s eye?
What if I am you and
You are me?
And what if we stopped just
Long enough to ask?
I wish you could stop
Just long enough to weep
With me

Heathen tongue

Loneliness, sudden –
a wrecking ball or
a surgeon’s scalpel
boorish and imprecise or
maddeningly targeted –
Knocks me to my knees
crushes my bones, then
Incises my chest and
I genuflect as my soul
drips out to the ground
drop by crimson drop
evaporating like hot breath
Like a prayer on my
heathen tongue