Riveting

It’s all a performance 

I’m a performance 

A down and out - here you go performance 

I doubt I will ever get back to what I was  

Before I knew what it was I was - it’s breaking 

This evolution into evolvement - even the cat 

Knows - he guards and waits / sits next to me 

Never on me - he knows what it is I am suppose 

To learn - his orange fur deepens into his ridges 

He will meet me on the other side - he’ll remember 

Me 

Acta Non Verba

And sometimes there is not enough time 

Not enough air to breathe - only a scent 

That inscribes a past 

Is it enough to know that years have passed 

That a no there was a nail driven - rivets really 

Rivets never come out 

So I’ll never see you when i see you - I’ll only 

See you when i sleep - and luckily i can sleep 

Anyplace, anytime - anywhere - so i’m lucky 

Can you say the same  

The economics of the ephemeral

For me it’s the economics of being a mother

To a son who is inches away yet miles from me 

A moment 

A joke, a connection - a semblance of a joint existence 

I’ll learn it all - if it can help me - lean into his life 

Perhaps if I lean in enough - if I learn enough - if I 

Grovel a bit 

It won’t be a Chinese Room* 

It will be a life - a life he leads with a job if he wants it 

Friends, lovers, books, texts to his mother that he is busy 

But Sunday for brunch would be nice - he’ll buy 

I want that - how do I get there - when he’s on repeat 

Scripting and flapping and bouncing - everything that was cute at 4 - at seventeen it’s knee bending - it’s my life 

How do I get out of my life 

How do I leave 

Knowing he remains 

* 1980 paper by the American philosopher John Searle, entitled "Minds, Brains, and Programs" and published in the journal Behavioral and Brain Sciences.^[1]

be

You don’t know what to do - so I’ll tell you 

Do what you want - what we have is 20 maybe 

25 more years - where we can stand upright 

Lift each foot for each step - embrace a pencil 

Button ourselves in - we have so little time  

Don’t waste it thinking on what to do - I’ll be ok 

You’ll be ok - what’s the worst that will happen 

Die

No - thats the best - I hear the other side welcomes 

The dead - and lets us rest - and we need rest - each 

Night 

Is too long and each day is too hot 

So to summarize - no worries - just be - and let us go 

aether

Somewhere in Paraguay someone or something

Has reached out and touched my words - take 

That Emily Dickinson - and I’m still alive yet 

Take solace - not a penny have I earned - and 

Truth be told - the words come from the ether 

The very strength of the clouds - of oxygen 

Linked to humanity - so Emily take solace - 

Your shoulders I stand on - the very dirt where 

You decompose - I visited once long ago - a hop 

Away from a conference - that demanded obedience 

Promised hope sprawled out in pamphlets long 

Gone 

And so I  carry your  words - I must wait hundreds 

Of years to learn - so let me rest and wait to be recalled 

lucrum cessans

Hate as a passive response

Not the verb that’s needed 

Just a sigh - no action - just 

Quiet immovable hate - I can 

Chip at it - resonate it - chat gpt it 

Still it comes down - to why 

Why come back and give so little 

Why expect the moon on my back 

Why - extend a hope - what was I 

That deserved so little - a significant 

You - lost in a myriad of threads 

It all turned into slush - a quick 

Sand - I easily fell into - hope on one end 

Hate the other - not of you - hate at what 

Was lost 

To sleep*

There’s an awful lot to write about

And not much time - each name is 

Called out - arms outstretched - 

Shackled - the last moment of life 

Before - once again - released - each 

Silently makes a promise - this time 

After this - but before that - it echoes 

This silent - rebuke - prayer - for others 

How it all came to pass - each a story 

Mine could join theirs - yes there is 

Much to write about and time well time 

Has a habit of not caring - 

* “ To sleep; perchance to dream: ay there’s the rub: for in that sleep of death what dreams may come?” William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (Act 3, Scene 1)