twilit

the limits to my creative spirit
eek out of the liver spots
cropping up on my skin,
once unblemished,
now puckering itself up
for whatever good will comes
its way. my words too,
less gumption. less pizzazz.
horn arrangements in the halcyon days
remind me of what the sun felt or
rolling down another hill or
flinging myself with abandon
into a pile of leaves or
trying to flip on a trampoline.
trying to get closer to some feeling.
trying to let any old song
feel new. hoping there is
still some time for me 
to flourish. for me to 
have something to say. 

everclever

 work has begun on a new chapbook and design/layout for #infinitehaiku II is imminent. I've also got something more substantial that's percolating and will be a bit of a departure from the usual style. Keeping the blade sharp or something...

wish the end times
were a bookmark
and the feel good,
happy fun times 
were the ocean's currents.

pray to see the circle
and the square
resolve their differences
but the edges and the bends
make a beginning, some start,
impossible

hope becomes a broken
cruise liner, slow-rolling
over into an anticlimactic
boat-apocalypse. an end
played out by a squeaking
brass band's worst performance
in weeks. going to hell on a highway
lined with dead electric cars and
moments cast aside for something
slightly better. rusting out. corroded
all over. still with eyes. still watching.