in the time of dreams

thoughts from an auto graveyard.

each car is a story;
every story starts with a dream

like children,
born of passions lost to the moment

how came they each to be here?
each came by a different set of roads, we know –

for there was a someone
or someone(s)
for whom, on a certain day,
the purchase of this specific car
was the whole of their concerns

and it was new
and choice was new, and paramount –

all delivered back
in the time of dreams
before the years pummeled these vehicles
into what we see now

ore mined one place
parts manufactured somewhere else

car built

gas pumped in stations in
who knows how many towns

what conversations took place in this car
what journeys were undertaken

is this place a reminder of human vanity
a testament of human strength in frailty?

cars are just things,
things are
kind of important —

the wind is blowing harder now
and i’m looking as though
i fit right in here

back in the time

of dreams

leveraged mockery

the last lone bird at sunset come
to pick whatever’s left or right
upon the winter docking bay,
the guiding edge of light and night —

this age is likely better now:
we thrive on leveraged mockery
and straggle on to pick our line
toward prison or

the lottery

{ the next inhabitants }

emptied of the cardboard crates,
the feelings that went with this place
are gone. the next inhabitants
will not know of the toys we found
in cushions, nor will they still hear
the songs we sang at bed.

the room transforms into the shape
of they who breathed and dwelt therein,
but now returns to resting form:
a moldy bit of wood and paint,
that shows no signs it ever housed
the living or

the dead

by products

A meditation on our role in the choices available to us

the world’s a store, and
we walk by products that are
arranged to catch our eyes;
our attention often fixed upon
objects not present, the
subjects of our current fixations –

and yet, if economics allow, we often
buy products that we know we may not
need or even want, merely from a sort of
habit of politeness; a feeling that
so much trouble was gone to for us, we
really should show some support –

bringing home these pointless objects, we
find ourselves leaving by-products, traces
of these and other half-optimal choices that
make up most of our days; the things we do, because
we must do something, and so we choose from among
the options available to us

if, of course, by “products” we are thinking of
things like relationship and career choices, this
only becomes more true – and more the
pity, since we frequently either don’t go to
enough stores to provide sufficient choice or
go to stores long after the right choice has been
purchased by someone else

Mixed Signals

We should not care so much about appearance.
I read this everyday, and everywhere —
But yet we will; and brook no interference
In judging others. Nor curtail our care

For our own looks; for our own way of seeming.
We seem to want to have this thing both ways —
The moral view, that all are valid, equal;
The underlying view that always stays —

That some are better looking than most others.
We twist and squirm, for this seems wrong; but still –
We strive to be spectacular, and realize
We’ve known it when we’ve seen it, and still will.

  The same society that says to curb it
  Will broadcast who wears what on some red carpet;
  And tell us all are beautiful alike
  Within a sequined dress, behind a mic.

When I was young, I hated physical education,
Because I was not an athlete, and couldn’t be, no matter what I did.

I asked my parents why I should try, when I would never be good at it,
And they said, “Because you need to be the best you can be;
Don’t compare yourself to others.”

But everything feels like a competition, and, of course,
Sports literally is a competition.

I think that’s how we are about looks.

Many of us know what it is to try to get attention in a room
Where the really attractive people are getting all of it.

It feels like losing.
So why even try, when we know that’s not our destiny?

“Because you need to be the best you can be;
Don’t compare yourself to others.”

I also believe in the subjectivity of looks;
Different people have different tastes.

Which works out well for most of us.

There’s more to attraction than looks;
There’s more to a person than their image.

However, looks do matter:
To each of us and for each of us.

It often seems like society sends
Mixed signals –
And it does —

Sometimes laughably,
As in the vanity-based movie business
Lecturing us on how all types of appearances
Are equally valid
When you know they don’t mean it.

But the truth lives
In the in-betweens
As it often does.

It matters, but it’s not everything;
We should do the best we can, even if
We will win no competitions in doing so.

The Concept of Beauty

“I love the melody of people’s lives…”

I’ve struggled my whole life with the concept of beauty
Or its male equivalent
Because it seemed unfair that it didn’t apply to me

But I’m a sound-oriented person
So I gave myself up to beauty in music
And spoken words

Nobody who knows me in real life thinks of me as a poet
I am known as a pianist
And as a public speaker
Or even as a mathematician
Which is kind of ironic

I’ve almost always hated the way I look
But whether speaking or listening
I lose myself in the absorption or creation
Of words
The music and the flow of them

And when I’m out here browsing blogs
I love the melody of people’s lives
The harmony of their dreams
Even the discords of circumstance

Because beauty, to me
Is found in our striving
To be better

Not just in perfections, so-called
That we attain

But in the desire
To live better
To reach more

To bring order to our chaos

And to be the best versions of ourselves

As we were all meant to do