a ritual to start the work week
One-hundred-thousand factors
fastidiously reformed into
itsy-bitsier pieces before
reconfiguring fusty-musty norms.
Anachronistic pentametricals
misconstrutinize new-numericals:
the month, the day, the year are clues to verse
adversarial.
Poems
can be
puzzles
if we
let them.
For more fives to end
oversimplify:
you can count on me
to make up words that
want to multiply.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Lakes of morning mist
fill the valleys far below.
Leaves fall sunrise-kissed,
flaming as they learn to show
their age, their end, their weakness,
this fiery dance of decay.
Who are we not to seek this,
to release and burn away?
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Hey whippersnapper, why
so sharp? Tongues
don’t need to cut so deep.
Why not leave
the lashing to reeds
on rugs or rain
on roofs? Why not
clean the dust with
a gentle nudge or shower
off the muddy crust
that cracks and crumbles
underfoot? Why not put
the blade away and
ask a friend
to stay and play?
love notes
a ritual to start the week
heart strings knuckle-bound
energy
calmly protected
still for now
held in suspension
eye sparkle
flame-thickened inhale
bubble-wrapped
pounce and purr prepared
gripped like reins
love notes
a ritual to start the week
the diner downstairs where nobody really went;
the bar across the street that poured Domaine du Page for a while;
the walk by the museum and the library and through Grand Army Plaza to the park;
the diner where people lined up for stacks of flavored pancakes while humming that Suzanne Vega song;
the fancy-pants cocktail bar where the bartenders wore suspenders and we all happened to meet up at the end of our makeshift bachelors parties;
the test prep and people watching in the grass;
the smell of wort on the walk to the C;
the ice cream shop next to the Q;
the no-man’s land on the long trek to the 2/3;
the beverage distributor around the corner that fed our budding love of beer;
the homebrew shop that happened to open one more block down Washington;
the park never too far away;
the vintage shop on Vanderbilt where we found my wedding jacket;
the spot between Park and Sterling where Herc would always give up on walking all the way to the park;
the walks back and forth down St Marks or Prospect for a beer or a game;
the New Year’s Eve stumbles home;
the Hair of the Dog brunches;
the chilly last-grasp of summer evenings as the sun sets behind Prospect Park West;
the warm walks back at dusk;
love notes
a ritual to start the week
The wish in your eyes,
the word on your tongue
leaps to be seen and change me.
The fire in your gut,
the hope in your heart
burns and billows and beseeches.
We reach for the right way
and find the road washed out.
We heave for a quiet place
and only hear from our doubt.
We grieve and we breathe
and we step forward on swords,
stab the ground with each step
toward our wars with ourselves.
The moon eats the sun,
the seas eat the moon
and we build a boat and set sail.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Eyes on the tries: time sighs
as fire flies. The wise revise
when lines turn lies. So why,
my prize, not try to rise?
Why grind? Why so dry? Why
so wry? Why not cry? Why
not rhyme? Why not align
your spine and find your sky?
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Fern spikes sprout cranial
and wild, bright ideas
speckled with creamsicle
clouds and papery smoke
puffs. Blades droop,
a cluster of upturned mops
with winding and forked handles. Tiny
smiling umbrellas huddle
and hang like the stringy
threads of moss that recline
restful on the sofa. A pane
of forest reaches over
a bough-crowded frame,
striped with vines that spit
broad palms, open and hungry
for sun. Gold cuts
through ceaseless green.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
A stampede of clouds hurtle
over Lake Michigan, make
leopard spots on the surface,
teal and cerulean faux-fur
flecked white in the wind. Sand bars
ripple, zebra stripes reaching
north-south beneath the east-west
push of the water. Checks
and stripes of city blocks
and boulevards, paisley parks
that curve aortic into the hearts
of neighborhoods, each pattern
feels closer than the last
until we touch down
on the yellow-hemmed tan suit
that buttons this city to every other,
all business, lined with caution
and a wink, a welcome.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
brows rise, sweat clouds rain
on this pea soup of a day
— “because it’s August”
small feet thump, groove tunes
hum from old speakers, still crisp
— “Dance, No One’s Watching”
tables of empty
cups, clean plates and full bellies
— “thanks for being here”
love notes
a ritual to start the week
Facing unfamiliar faces, it’s easy
to turn and face the sea
instead, look into
endlessness as if it were knowable,
or known. It’s easy
to opt out of
unknowns in front of us,
self-select for safety
and tell ourselves
it’s exclusion. It’s easy
to turn away from
our fear of being seen and
face the perfection outside
ourselves, forgetting
our part in it.
love notes
a ritual to start the week
