Don't see anyone
looking for shade in winter.
Guess it's not sunny.

It's February.
The sky is grey and forever.
Still, winter will give.

The bees are buzzing,
and all I can think about
is the taste of honey.

Look, cherry blossoms!
The wind blows through the orchard
and the blossoms fall.

Lunacy

You are the energy un-solar,
more reflective than radiant,
directed not to sustenance but
to mastery of mystery and form.
Like water from light you flow,
not the shortest path but the
surest.  To me you are more
of a ripple than a drop.
Calling up images of masks
and transformations,
you move as a force through
space factual and musical.
Your optimism is inspirational
and paired with your brain:
sensational. You're a spice,
uncharted yet bounded. A kite,
flying but grounded.
You terrify me
because all I want to do is see you.
I'm a mouse before the moon,
but in that moment, I feel planetary.

A parking lot poem

The last time I saw you it was in hot, forced breaths.
Each out easy and empty, but the ins, impossible
through a frown so deep it made me queasy.
Every huff a ritual to soothe my gut
to keep the bile from rising in my throat,
and then another in, short to keep my face
from twitching, knowing that it would only erode
my determination not to cry.
It was only weeks before that I had figured out
there were parallel worlds:
one where we were happy together,
and another where we had never met.
I was from the later,
but could see and feel them both.
And yet, there you stood in the dark parking lot,
a ghost from an outside universe
bearing the scars of a ghastly end.
You had flown in from some terrible reality
where nothing is eternal, and love dies.
'What happened?'
But there is no answer, just the pain I felt and saw in you.
And even with you in front of me as my mirror,
I fought to hold back the truth, to keep myself
from realizing that there is just
this one universe, and we
haunt each other.

Restless

I'm standing restless, filling in a year from now
with my hopes and somehow knowing it'll be better.
I'm trying to forge new meanings from old words,
looking darkly through the glass;
it's hard to tell how full, without a lamp.
I've got another 17 hours until my thoughts
come back to me, to find me waiting in the light,
ready but unable, willing to jump but hesitant to roll
over and out of bed. I'll take a walk because I'm restless.
All this time I've been planting a garden on futile soil.
What's the point to growing crops of rotted tubers and twisted squash?
The almanac says to fertilize with time, but what a price to pay:
I'd rather bury a talent than spend a year.
I guess it's hard to invest when you're restless.

Love

There was a gun in my heart
looking out for someone to love,
and when I saw her it fired,
made an exit wound, and I
wounded her too.
I wanted to have someone
to hurt together with, and someone
to heal together with, so I pulled
her in and our clots and scabs clung
until our flesh knitted, and then we lived
heart to heart, each beat felt two ways.
But she fired her heart point blank,
and now everything is an exit wound.

...

Living life with a banjo and a lazer gun,
just hanging out and having fun.
I shoot to kill, but don't hurt anyone,
because I set my phaser to stun.

Philosophical Help Line

This is part of an actual call recorded by the A&Q division of the Philosophical Help Line call center. The names have been removed to protect the identities of the parties involved.

Q: Thank you for calling Philosophical Help Line, where every answer has a question, is there anything you would like us to question today?

A: Hi there. I was pondering this: Suppose that someone only lived for one day; half of their life would be light, and the other half would be dark.

Q: Isn't it that way already?

A: But we sleep during the night.

Q: Why wouldn't they just sleep  during the night too?

A: Because that would be half of their already short life.

Q: Isn't it that way already?

A: ...yeah.....okay....thanks. (click)
[Dial tone]

Just another call, helping people at the Philosophical Help Line call center.

No Masters

I'm a man with a sword serving two masters.
My skill is complete. My talent is reckless.
I won't move for honor. I won't move for gold.
My heart is on fire, my brain is exploded.

I am a solider for love and a warrior for truth:
Truth is the force the makes me go rabid.
Truth is the madness that pulls me to battle.
Truth shows me how the world is warring.
Truth is my effort, my duty is Love.
An echo that voices me farther, Love.
The effort that goes on forever, Love.
Wakes me up in the morning,Love.
Shakes me up in the evening, Love.
Truth makes me fight and I know it for Love.
Truth makes me wrong and I show it for Love.
I try Love,
but Truth makes me blow it.

I'm a man with a sword serving two masters:
Truth makes me draw it. I drop it for Love.
Truth makes me draw it and I drop it, Love.
Truth makes me draw it. I drop it for Love.

i am leaving my sword now i have no sword
no sword
no masters

Tilt

Don Quixote might have jousted with giants,
but for me windmills are not enough.
I want to tilt like a pro, like Joe, not fighting a fish,
but the power behind. I want to line up to fight
with the breaker of hips, and touch hot coals to my lips,
to burn the pride and the shame, but leave
the anger and blame. Burn the lips, but leave
the teeth. I'm buying boxing gloves,
so I can take them off: I never held back, but I never had fire.
Now I'm on fire, burning and being burned.
I guess I had to learn before I could fight,
now I have to fight before I can learn.

Someone said to me 'You can't fight God'
but I call bullshit - just because you can't win
doesn't mean you can't get your punches in
and I want to make a few connect:
not to sting the face but the feel the weight of my swing
and feel like I can move a thing. And its not enough
to move the moon, to move the earth, I need
to fight something bigger so that when I swing
I move myself.
Windmills and giants are not enough.

Delta

You left me and the grass
is not the same green anymore.
Now I like the Blues;
I can feel the Blues.
You left me and the grass
is not the same green anymore.
The grass is greener, and
I miss the way you muted the grass.