Yesterday’s Ephiphany

If only I were still a bystander
and mock those deeply entrenched
in the purportedly essential games
of daily life

Instead I use these feeble
and intermittent attempts
to find a certain solace behind
the thin veil of delusion

I couldn’t possibly be scraping at the bottom;
That’s a cowardly thought and
a surrender to the pervasive lethargy
that is so easily blamed on the times

If nothing else, I realize that
the old adage about work over ability
holds well in an attention deficit world
even if only till I choose to remember it


It was a holiday so I woke up on time
and before long I was staring at the black line
blinking in a sea of recycled text

The noise wasn’t deafening that day
and for a while the resulting delight
kept me unproductively occupied

It is never supposed to be pretty,
akin to pushing against a grind stone,
not for those of intermittent intent

Here, however, the freedom is terrifying
and the prerequisites accompanying the plunge
temptingly simple but deceptively evasive

What does one say to one
who doesn’t have the time for that
and wrongly construes their courage for this?

Some Realizations

Here is the visible misfortune of a friend
and the degree of my own indifference
surprises me.

It isn’t the same when,
far removed from my presence,
fanatics kill and burn strangers.

This elicits an immediate reaction
….but not for the stranger,
so perhaps it is the same.

Do I hate bad ideas more
than I love good people?
Is that a natural product of our times?

Or perhaps this is a grotesque evasion
of a problem that may not be singular to me
but is more intrinsic than I’d like to admit.


And now I find myself
filled with derision
for every strand of thought
not in harmony with mine

While consciously aware
that with each passing moment,
albeit with diminishing vitriol,
I am derisive of my own past

But wouldn’t concessions,
no matter how intuitive,
be akin to succumbing to
the mediocrity that comes naturally?

And perhaps a war over axioms
is doomed until we realize
there is no all-knowing, all-powerful, all-present
but only us and our conversations


….then there are times, perhaps more
frequent now that I have been here a while,
when the hesitance to repeat is so consuming
that I forget about the wondrous sleight of language,
which is the tool and a reason;

and that the right things must be said endlessly,
there always being the need to say them
with no dearth of mouths espousing all
that’s wrong, evil and unnecessary.

Remembering and accepting this,
it all suddenly falls open and multitudes emerge,
the voices of yore, itching to be heard once again
in a different but befitting manner