Omnipotence
reveals itself
in shadow.
Anything
could be there.
Is there.
I want to diminish
what power I’ve lent to it,
so I light a fire.
Losing nearly everything
to the flame —
wondering, now,
who or what that was
in the dark; where
it has gone; why
I can’t see myself
in the darkened, savaged mirror
I save from the ruins.
addled
fat-ass
complaining
all the new music is crap
club banging loose doors
no dynamic range
and sex-twinkie full
all the new music is crap
dingling guitar crash
no resolution to the lines
of stumblebum mopey gloomtrash
all the new music is crap
canned rhymes and software
no sense of uplift or history
and who are these decorative women
all the new music is crap
hats, hats, hats and more hats
no whiff of messy hair under there
and what’s the difference among them
you bad little whiner
you age-inappropriate gymnast
on the high bars of current flavor
I salute you
you patriot
because only a true American
makes a case for used to be over right now
as he tears down old homes
to build salt box mansions in defunct potato fields
only a true American
yearns for his tradition
while spitting on someone else’s
as its getting off the ground
only a true American
bends ancient blue notes
and calls them
the latest and greatest
addled fat ass
with your watery beer
in a venerable bottle
addled fat ass
with a tin ear
on a stone head
addled fat ass
that won’t shake unless
the song’s got dust on it
you won’t admit you remember
that they said the same thing
back when you were tossing
your hair in a free swirl
and addling yourself on beat
and drugs in a field somewhere
you were young and open
but getting older by the note
but swearing they were stupid
as you did the rebel and the stomp
to something crappy yourself
and knowing it wasn’t the song as much
as the dancing in extremis
that made you
The cosmos is barking
like an untrustworthy dog
this morning. In the sound I can hear teeth
and sour breath, distant and pervasive
wherever I choose to stand
in the cramped house. It sounds
like it’s outside both doors
and every window, possibly
even upstairs and in the cellar.
I wish I had some raw meat
to toss ahead of me today
as I go about my business,
but I’m out of food, out of options
in general. I have no children
to carry on for me, either,
if I’m taken today. That may be
more blessing than regret, of course;
who would wish their aftermath
on their children is no idol of mine,
so I’ll take small comfort in being
all alone as I hear the snarling
approaching. Whatever happens,
it will be the two of us, the cosmos dog
and I, who will see it together.
Whatever war we end up waging
will be ours alone to wage.
Good morning, life, routine,
cups of coffee, toast, shower,
dress, commute. You’ll be my weapons
and I’ll pretend the dog can’t kill me
as I arm myself in chores and duties,
hoping the cosmos passes me by
to savage and piss elsewhere today.
Dark Matter 