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Bespoke annihilation.
With pace, the rivers run.
Mountains churning granite.
Into, unto, upon.

Everyone Likes

Make the music
Everyone likes,

Don’t leave it
Up to fate.

Play the sonata yourself.
The symphony
Can’t hold
The notes
These days.

Autumn Fall

A dramaturgical gambit.

A feast of skullduggery.

The masterpiece is burning.

The button controls the play.

Spendthrift creatures sneaking,

Alleys hide like prey.

Sag and droop, sad pockets,

Savor the pennies away.

A lot of good they’ll do us

Oxidizing in the grave.

Trade them for something shiny new.

The market is open today.

Something in the Wind

The great reveal:
The year's first smell of spring.

Let us let it beckon us
Outside to play.

We'll fall out laughing, 

Breathless, staggering, splayed.

Our grips will reflexively loosen,
Our eyes will leak, 

Time itself will grovel
At our feet. 

The Dungeness Deposit

Bears upturn suburban garbage cans,
Bottles clutter the sides of wilderness trails.
Lines and borders tend to bleed together.
Fences, laws, and tariffs tend to fail.

I pluck a rock from the mountains,
And cast it to earth across the bay.
Will it matter much to either place?

My intuition says the rock requires mourning.
Oh, ancient emblem of gradual entropy!
More likely it is me who grasps for meaning:
Projecting, imposing, imagining tragedy.

Riding Seaward on the Waves

In the humid atmosphere,
Braids fray quickly.
Pricks of sweat
Burst from tender skin.
Sands, composed
Of tiny eyes of coral,
Cling to clothing.
Sips of water soak from within.

Waves spit spray that floats
With eerie languor.
Smears of haze curdle
Into focus through a squint.
The sand is lava, coral, abalone,
Boulders to an atom.
Shells and flint.