Friday, February 12, 2016


As I walk home (a multi-brown hulk
Plopped next to the hushed flows of traffic,
A minor fifth achieved by angry honks
Before the thundering LIRR obliterates

All sense) I catch a burst of expletives.
Everything continues as before, unchanged,
That is, in constant flux, paying no mind
To the white distances I trek in thought.

A seagull, come inland today, roosts
On the neighbor’s balcony across the way;
His presence turns the snow to sea foam
While the bird itself morphs into a white crow.

I loaf in the cold of imperfection
And let the afternoon wash away my pride.
No doubt the demagogues on CNN tonight
Will issue dire prognostications to a world

That does not conform to the ego.
The black holes of identity spin around themselves,
Churning out the rhetoric of apocalypse
In xenophobic songs and kill crusades.

The Pharaohs of capital continue to erect
Slave-pyramids whose gravitational waves
Disturb the depths of the most placid soul
As no-go zones proliferate across the earth.

And, for all that, I and this mystery
Are never spent making a housecleaning
Of belief before the chrysalis of sleep.
Dream and building are one impermanence

To someone or something in danger
Of winking out of existence unnoticed
In the darkness beyond names and forms.
My opinions don't matter now.

A menacing snow-black seagull
Tells me there is still time to go back inside.
I will loaf in the cold of imperfection
And let the afternoon wash away my pride.