Thoughts In Your Morning Cereal

Casting thoughts of the future like searchlights           
this is worship.
The halo of attention sits atop storms of desolate mindscapes    
like little bloated O’s floated in bath scum. 

Frosted CRISPR Cas13’s deployed 
in your morning cereal. Dad says to eat up.

Viruses create havoc— an attempt to take control of the host.
Then ooze blob-like out of the light of attention before turning
into dark smokey shadow to regain the high ground.

With this my daily bread i shall take to infirm the wretched—
part of a complete breakfast!


halos shoot arrows with razor blade precision
germ warfare has been declared. But it’s Dad’s war, and didn’t 
he also say not to fight in other people’s wars?
NOW WITH SPECIAL CHOCOLATEY CASING!

Snip the disease of our humanity
until we are no longer human. 
Now we started a war
that we can’t win.

Yeah But, Who’s Listening?

Words —
We have enough words, but have we got enough people willing to listen. To really listen. It’s easy enough to write them, easy enough to put them out there, but are we even listening. I’m trying. I’m really trying to read your words as if they were mine. When you read do you read just to consume more? I do that too. When you read are you rushing? Same. Maybe we should go back to writing on stone tablets so we can realize how precious these words really are. I’m trying, I’m really trying. How many of us read with care? Read someone else’s poem as if it was your own. Everybody’s writing, but who’s listening. If not you, who?

Tonight

Tonight
the Aspen is
clacking
in the breeze.
It’s very similar
to the nails of
a raccoon
on the branch,
shuffling leaves,
climbing limbs.

I hear it
because
I listen.

Orion’s Belt is robust
in the Northern sky.
Has the archer been
fattening up for the
winter?

These dandelion
leaves are
translucent
in the moonlight—
like my mind
and the river of
words that flows
through.

These are thoughts too

The most unusual cries are reverberating into the atmosphere,
bouncing from concrete walls to traffic sounds. Part loon, part howl; indistinct, yet through it a thought pierces the surface. . . people are. And it wasn’t exactly a thought thought in words as much as a collage of images, maybe a montage of sorts. In a nanosecond; people are. Here we exist together in this, whatever it is. This life we’ve made for ourselves. We are a part of this nature. We are to commerce as the crow is to songbird. And now I’m thinking that these cries are thoughts too. And I’m having a hard time distinguishing the inside
from the out.