THE SILENCE BETWEEN SECOND HANDS

The Silence Between Seconds

Without the master, I am alone

and that kind of loneliness only

comes in short, curt, bursts

a moment of light before the sun rises

where the palate is full of paint, you can

stare right at the light, and it won’t hurt

but, just like that, they’re back again

reason, logic, pain, 

the whip of consciousness

back again, laying down the law

and while he stands above us

reminding us of the second hand,

we can cooly close our eyes and 

look right into the sun;

we can breathe before 

the hand comes down again. 

Ink and Saltwater (Curling and Breaking; Bleeding)

Ink and Salt Water (Curling and Breaking) 

A waltz upon the pages of a bastion -

some simple sea, with whiteness waves

flitting on distant currents

created to mesmerize the public

like a magic show. 

God, why did you create 

the waves and the pages,

only to have them change

in internal and eternal 

idiosyncrasies? 

Are we so distant

and callused, so 

far and alone that

we cannot be left to

indulge without supervision? 

For the sea and the page

are merely mighty mirrors

for some ineffable world 

far beyond the horizon,

hidden inside the period. 

A Moment Alone

What a problem to have
When a moment alone
Is the thing that I need

Instead of a drought
it's a flood, instead
of clay, it's mud

But too much of
anything may be something
better than nothing

but the ceasing of
rain, while you are
showering, gives me

just enough time,
to slip this note
into the computer

just enough time
to dance with another
woman, before my card

is filled back up with you.