The Electric Runabout

Learn how new
The old new things seemed,
And understand the veil
That hides us from ourselves

We’re all dropped into
The middle of stories,
We all have roles
With inconsistent characters

When the lights are flashing
And the music’s pumping,
We move because
That’s all life is —


Did you once shake
The hands of time?
Have you betrothed
To many things?

You feel the chlorine
In your eyes,
That remnant there
That always stings

And you have proved
A feckless friend
Who drinks too much
And laughs too loud,

Enamored with
Your vanity,
You walk the high way
Of the proud,

But parametric
Have strengthened your

To draw an audience
Of one.
How decorous,
How clever.

You reach
Your shoulder-circling arm
Around to your next
Would be —

And all of it
Is just so you,
While none is
As it should be.

So learn how new
The old things seemed
When they were first
Seen newly,

And just how empty
All can be
When you cannot live



When you think you know the future,
Many strange things will you do;
When we’re right, we don’t think “lucky” —
That’s the human point of view.

Public lives are filled with hubris,
Most are not accountable,
For the world is asymmetric:
This seems insurmountable.

What was genius now is folly,
What was right’s been proven wrong —
Yet we think that we’re so different,
Like we knew it all along.

Those who can’t control their lives say
How the country should be run;
Promising a new tomorrow,
But when all is said, and done,

Billions upon billions of our
Choices make us what we are:
Termites on a tiny planet,
Circling a fading star.

Life: it is a vast unfolding.
Fate does not care how we feel —
Make the future that’s today, then:
It’s the only one

That’s real

{ … the empty silence … }

the empty silence swallows us
when we tune out the noise;
the politics of hatred in
a world of equipoise –

the hollowness of everything,
the shadows in our eyes —
the camera that shows the soul
behind all our disguise —

we give in to the hatred, and
the calumny, the violence:
but come to reckoning at last
within the empty silence.

the empty silence swallows us
and chokes our last confession:
we saviors who would fix the earth,
but die within


Each day somewhere between falling and gliding —
I guess that’s sliding —
The voyage is down, I know, but still,
Life goes where it will,
And the storms always come to menace us,
But that needn’t finish us.

Life is a playground, a swing set, a sandbox,
With blocks and clocks and short talks
About our misguiding;
And yet, we keep sliding
Down into adulthood
Which sounded better than it feels good.

The road, the hills, this landscape — our destiny;
At least, so it seems to me.
So, take it in; be flexible, versatile,
Rain is not personal,
Trouble’s abiding, and won’t be subsiding,
So just keep on sliding


I tried creative, it was artificial;
I aimed for stylish, things were fashionless —
I meant wide ranging, I got superficial;
To show good temper, came off passionless.

So many good things bordering on bad ones,
To hit our mark, both difficult and rare —
Is it a pearl, or is it a secretion?
The way we feel determines

What is there

too close

conversations flow like melting snow upon the mountains of the memories of what we'd make the world / and in between the moments we demur to take the blame for every season brings the hope of something more / and every single one of us not you not me but all of us were there / to solemnize a promise that we'd never hold too close what we should share / but there were moments in the dim our tongues touched to the whiskey and the salt / when we rolled in and out of beds not too specific but way too gestalt / it turned out love was all we knew but we were not that good at it it seems / and now we shift our focus such that signifies our paucity of dreams / the feelings that you've lost a type of backwash in the center of your heart / and all this talk a hillside view of what became of what we meant to start / of what we meant to start and kind of did and kind of didn't in the end / and now there's only melting snow and what is left of what was once your friend