Of Paramount Importance
A Summary Collection
I Ask Because
And if only because I once saw her sitting in a lonely park on a bench looking all alone
And because I vowed never to become that person
At least, in so far as that was within my power to dictate
Which is to say: it is not so much . . .
And it isn’t that I — or you — or that lone woman in the lonely park are without agency
But that this pilgrimage seems to steer itself just as often; and I suppose that is okay
But for knowing of the head-on collisions that hover about what are otherwise open uneventful highways
And for knowing that however all that squares up it is just the musings of timing and chance
And who knows what — or who — can rightly claim to know such things
And who really cares anyway?
And yet, I do — and you should care too —
And if not for yourself, then for that lone woman sitting quietly in a lonely park
All alone save (what we can only hope is) an active imagination that has the top-down
Her silver-auburn hair whipping in synch to a wind-thrown acceleration
Speeding the agency of a low-day mind with a loneliness to beat ~
212˚F
This thin-blown jet of steam leaking from beneath the gurgling lid
A generic prayer finding its will
Re-igniting a fire having nearly died —
having, inexplicably, been allowed to cool to an anorexic vestige of orange-red piping
skeletal about the fade edge of grey coals . . . . . .
Now, again, having found the voice of full-flame
Fueled of this stock wing-and-a-prayer synergy
Its burn-bulb urgency stoking the pulse of atoms strung on a line by the cord-sway thousands
Capitulating to no one or thing in the furious pursuit of 212˚ ~
The Mirror
Though you are gone, your visage there, still
The burn-in blanched by the age and the fading
But there, still —
And the look on your face is one of amazement
Stunned that that captured moment should live on
And this, despite our rabid attempts to forget — or to remember — ?
I have forgotten which of the two was more important
The impression(s) in outline-only
A glass penitentiary of a past something(s)
Whose hurled-to-earth smashing would not aid the freeing of conscience or alleviate strain
The burn-in etched into neurons, cortex, recall
The facts and edited facts a disjointed constellation of micro narratives shatter-scattered
Glass particles crunching beneath sneakered soles
Betraying the hope that their light touch would have allowed unnoticed passing
The mirror reflecting everything it sees and has seen ~
Asking The Time
Because . . .
wielded as soft power, as the gentle rebuke of a grandparent whose obvious (strategic?) look of being let-down — of deflation hung on a disappointment — is all that’s needed to pin the point
Because . . .
tossed in as a hand grenade, its verbal shrapnel casting enough of a blast radius to devastate the intended target, any collateral damage luckless for its chance proximity to the bomb-throwers of love and war
Because . . .
it is known the world over
Because . . .
no one has any earthly idea
Because . . .
these are facts that must be submitted to a candid world
Because . . .
no one has patience for details anymore
And because . . .
my father used to have a saying: “you ask that guy the time and he’ll tell you how to build a watch” — to which I was always a bit at odds, preferring the deep-dive, to be “in the know”
And this because of . . .
time — and — facts — and — love — and — war —
And because . . .
I said so ~
All In
The large and the small, the tall and the thin
The loud, the proud, those cowering and meek
We are all in it: together, alone
fearing, loving, loathing
hunting for that pick-lock skill enough to crack the strongroom wherein the winked-at truths reside, a light revealing an abiding sense that this was all of a dream . . .
And yes: we had nothing to fear ~
A Distinct Instant
The telepathy of sidling glances took stock of the miracle at hand
It might have eventually registered as a small thing, but for the careening timeless whoosh
This here, something of note rifling past, right there in front of their eyes, and at speed
Attracting, as it did, more than just the pinball of side-glancing eyes
But the peripheral data of stand-still wonder: channeling it, funneling it
Fire-hosing all five—all six—senses all at once, overwhelming their outsized little universe
As a thousand-year flood tops the levee of a mind’s coursing tidal eye
Leaving it to tread-stroke the depths of a still black-deep pool . . .
It set up as a memory of distinction, an eye-dart instant rippling across the night sky
The comet’s tail racing with speed, sparkling and sizzling before dissipating
Drifting through its coda across a blameless night-silent sky ~
