remember that one time? how long ago was it? probably too long ago to be vivid anymore. that’s how it goes. that’s how it went. maybe. memory is speculative at best. the past is always so long ago even if it was only recently past. and the vivid leaves as soon as the experience does.

so it’s a vague life living on a collection of incorrect coincidences being most inopportune at the time when time was without time for further consultation.

but something else is coming up anyway and who knows if it’ll be a major life event or if it’ll kill you but watch out for the updates. watch and try to make it vivid. add color where the future is bi-chromatic if able to be seen at all.
and when there was a loss for words what was really gone?

one time there was a chance to say something about that one time but the time has passed. the moment is dead, gone, buried in memories.

and when there was hell to pay, about how much did that cost? what currency was exchanged? what was the charge for? will the debt be carried over into the afterlife?
yesterday it was easy to assume the routine would be the same and it is so there’s that.

for better or worse is no better nor any worse than same old same old and the yeah yeah responses to be returned without so much as a concerned look attached to a face fast set to depart.
but then again there was that one time, you remember, that one time when it was within reach. when what was had wasn’t good enough and there wasn’t a reason to settle for less than what might be. you remember? it’s memorable even if it was only that one time.
took out a loan for another time. calculated and counted on hope but you wouldn’t cosign. maybe it was for the best. could be for the worst. who knows? what’s there to compare it to? what’s a comparison worth anyway?
who’s been more often read than whoever wrote home sweet home in latch-hook? and when there’s no place like home what does that mean for the rest of the world? oh, and to retreat a bit, the author of ‘welcome’ must have trillions of views by now standing on the stoop with salt on boots eager for a drink and some goddamn sympathy for once.

hell, life isn’t easy. take it from somebody who’s been out there and in here actually living almost every day for decades. living and remembering. remembering and trying to find something to focus on but always coming away from feeling sorry. feeling and then being. just once, can somebody else be sorry for a second? it’s been a series of apologies for longer than should be remembered but they always add form to the vagaries of yesterday. whenever that yesterday was without a shape to fill space but gaseous enough to make do. to make us feel full. to make us be full enough for the moment.
whatever words were said it’s up for debate now. watershed moments are lighthouses to avoid in the dark when those waves of other days come back. when a respite is not all it needs to be.
it’s what it was then it’ll be what it will be. what it’ll never be is what it is. to be current is to be a conversation. something a word might change.


Both These

take ownership of space

it’s all that can be had.

own place and position

take it

and tell time

the ride was worth every dime.


is lowered sip by sip

till the white bottom shows



refills itself

and destiny

is the table

supporting both these cups.

Common Era

Trees held without

a sigh

since the beginning

what the columns

of Heracles

have only begun

to do

but ask to become legend

And furthermore to take

from Atlas

his strain.

* * *

Perseus, Jason and Argonauts

were the first guerillas

put to labor

for wanting what was

justly due.

* * *

Gods no longer

mingle with humanity

fear of losing thrones

splitting inheritance

was too much

and even Jehovah

is a floating


since the start

of this common era.

Aknowledges Going

long, slow chance




-call now





ends met.


one desire gone





That Experience Anymore

never learned to sit up straight,

stop dragging feet,

stand up tall,

take deep breaths


nor want to live –


gave what there was to give

listening to Ramones

and let fine German steel

cut through a decade

doing for others

who could afford

such luxuries.


went way wrong

to catch

fall of stars

burning hands

too sore to realize


not sure if there’s more to meaning but when something wants to be seen it appears

ready and dressed

for a final moment.


then there’s those who pray

– cupcakes

– kittens

– puppies

– a pony

for well-endowed


who won’t waste hope

on weaker wants


life is long –

only slightly more so

than disappointment’s



the grounded.


without a silence


go on

– boxes

in trunks –

en route

to stranger parts.


there’s no way to exist in




This Watch

This watch which wraps itself

around that wrist

connected to that hand

which in turn

holds open that book

not written with these words, this ink, those thoughts

that seemed important and distinct

at that time

when that watch

was showing

some time

long ago

forgotten with

these words

read and unwritten

but conceived.