the stillborn poems
all blue veiny in formaldahyde
hideously beatiful and
floating sad in potential
that never was
i should move to jersey
and live not near the hoi
nowhere near the polloi
but by the broken
so comfortable they
don't know, don't care...
hell they might not even
be broken
or no more damaged goods
than anyone else
lake forest
october 2022
an overwhelmingness with life
but not the things to do, places to go,
not by what i should buy next
overwhelmed by what?
life?
the people
their very being
their doing and moving about
their sayings and sighs
wondering how they are
soaring and struggling
loving or being shunned
the overwhelming uncommonness
of the poetry of everyday life
overwhelmed by the
neither winter nor spring
equinoxious void between
death and rebirth
march 2022
just wandering along
maybe trying to make things
make more sense... maybe
more sense than dogmas
if more sense even matters
in the grand scheme, if there is
even a grand scheme or theme
and, maybe, that's simply ok
maybe that is the final grasp
of the plan, the design, the way,
the path that is so wide
that everyone's following it...
north park
april 2022
what is it but a dream?
like i drempt i was... what?
a butterfly? an earthworm?
an octopus? a warlord?
virtuoso something or other?
or am i awake
daydreaming
mittying about
in a stream of
great unconciousness
albany park
april 2022
on that certain stair
of our first house
or
the hallway balcony
of this one
the childhood
front porch in detroit
or the nutmeg wiltonian
