longdead leafa longdead leafMore Like This
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
EnceladusIs this what it means to be overthrown—More Like This
reduced to a mere satellite, a scale
of someone else's might? My scales, my own
heart, are no longer my own, so I ail
beneath the gravity of an immense
mass, like a giant shackled by a god.
I want upheaval, an earthquake, intense
destruction, and I want the world to laud
me as its maker. I want to rage, strike
out, trumpet a whole planet to arms, but
each complete revolution leaves me like
the one before, in just the same place. What
can I do but bide my time, surrender
(for now) to this great system's defender?
An Old, Sweet SongMy heart aches for scorching summer afternoonsMore Like This
spent drinking lemonade in the shadow of
the old house on the hill, draped in ivy and shade.
I'd watch cars fly by:
Pick-up trucks sporting Confederate flags
and a lot of red clay and pollen,
which would rumble across old railroad tracks
on their way to churches whose steeples
could pierce the stillness of the sky;
SMART cars--the clean ones with
stick figure families--taking 75-south
ripping down the interstate, too important
to admire the cornfields or sip sweet tea.
Everyone was in a hurry
to collect scattered souls for Jesus
or to sit in miles of city traffic,
each secretly addicted to the gridlock.
We were all missing something,
clinging to our side of the juxtaposition,
but in reality nothing mattered more
than the harmony we couldn't see.