Emblematic
Somewhere things can get better,
in this jungle, this meadow,
this town or that.
One never knows the myriad
of unseen colors lurking
in different shadows
depending on the wind,
the direction, the taste of new air
in your surprised mouth.
Have a good time. Be well.
Help people. That's the best way
to feel better.
Pain is a challenge
I see you face
like a stoic tree trunk anyway.
Your re-framed pain, a mere inconvenience
in the only few years left
has a tinge of longing
for the body-less void.
a constant reminder
of frail days looming closer.
One finds oneself diminished in the future,
worsening with age.
How do you breathe that in
and let it go?
I am not stoic.
I tell myself there's always more drugs.
Everywhere food particles
and puddles of water.
Twice a day sweeping and mopping,
and still our autistic floors
could feed another two children somewhere.
I scoop it up with a window wiper,
My shoulders like saw blades
Hips metal hinges stoop
Bend And reach
white like the dustpan, speckles of tobasco
like galaxies shower the walls. . . . . .
Somewhere things can get better,
in this jungle, this meadow,
this town or that.
One never knows the myriad
of unseen colors lurking
in different shadows
depending on the wind,
the direction, the taste of new air
in your surprised mouth.
Have a good time. Be well.
Help people. That's the best way
to feel better.
Pain is a challenge
I see you face
like a stoic tree trunk anyway.
Your re-framed pain, a mere inconvenience
in the only few years left
has a tinge of longing
for the body-less void.
a constant reminder
of frail days looming closer.
One finds oneself diminished in the future,
worsening with age.
How do you breathe that in
and let it go?
I am not stoic.
I tell myself there's always more drugs.
Everywhere food particles
and puddles of water.
Twice a day sweeping and mopping,
and still our autistic floors
could feed another two children somewhere.
I scoop it up with a window wiper,
My shoulders like saw blades
Hips metal hinges stoop
Bend And reach
white like the dustpan, speckles of tobasco
like galaxies shower the walls. . . . . .