simulacrum, memory

driven through the broken glass
broken by the driving wind
ghosts are standing by the lake
broken by the driving wind

simulacrum, memory
memories of what's to come
ghosts that shiver by the lake
memories of what's to come

shielded purpose, veiled intent
cold as death, and colder still
ghosts of time in times of ghosts
cold as death, and colder still

broken by the driving wind
frozen lake's inconstancy
ghosts that claim me for their own
simulacrum
memory

Reflections After Consuming A Meatball Sub

I eat terribly
Like about 250 million other Americans

I hear talk about the dreadful American diet
Blaming it on ignorance or
Blaming it on corporations

Or both

A theory I haven’t heard proposed:
Maybe 250 million people
Are essentially trying to commit
A slow form of suicide

And, at $5

It’s cheaper than hemlock

Another Kind of Price

The waves both come and go, but still
The shore seems much the same

As waves of guilt surround me now
But barely touch the blame
That I assign to one like me,
Who knew where truth began:

The needless hurt that can be caused
From not much of
A man


 

(“Another Kind of Price” – 3-14-2017)

Forfeiture –

The heart that skittered in my chest
  betrayed the world before my eyes;
  the few who I had loved the best
  had spun away to alibis.

I looked and stared, I stared and looked,
  but nothing came to focus clear;
  the wind still smelled as fate had cooked,
  and I was neither there, nor here.

The truth was, I had lost much truth,
  but hearts that change look much the same:
  as I burned under self-reproof,
  consumed to feel I was to blame —

There is a hatred we can’t ‘scape,
  for it is everywhere – and whole —
  a lurking phantom in our shape:
  the forfeiture of joy
  and soul