Friday, October 25, 2013

Weekly Worded

     Nightlight

Like a firefly flirting
with an outlet,
the incandescent hope

beckons, draws me
barefooted across cold
linoleum toward a place

I know is there
but can not clearly see. 
Call it a destination,

a goal, a mission,
or by necessity,
a bathroom.

Like the ocean's floor,
a murky path will be stirred
by ten evanescent tentacles.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Disaster

You sit down
and like a blank
sheet of paper

you crumple before
getting up
to leave.

All that white space
between hello
and goodbye.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Shingling the Pyramids

Annubis next door, barking all night. 
The neighbor embalming himself.
Who knows who will live forever.

Early morning I’m ripping plywood,
hammering asphalt shingles into place
one by one, keeping the rain out

of my temple, slave to my own industry,
still pissed off by that lazy dog,
thinking again with my heart.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Weekly Worded

    Conflict Materials

Pounded thin enough,
the tin, tantalum, and tungsten,
are the sledges of the bells, bells, bells,

of the ringtones and vibrations
calling us to our cellphones.
Hear a cacophony of bullets and screams,

a history of atrocities at our fingertips,
a hard-to-trace serial number etched
in blood, thugbeat of the Congo.