I’m sitting here.
I’ve got a drink, held by
Wrinkly old fingers.
The sun has risen, and set again.
I built this porch and installed this swing.
So I can sit.
The neighborhood kids have children now.
The floor boards are creaky now.
And the paint…well.
There’s a ladder in the garage,
If you’re so inclined.
It’s cool, and the skies are clear.
I can see all the stars and constellations.
That’s Orion up there – the one with the belt.
My father told me about him when I was a kid.
He’s in the ground now.
And I’m on this swing.

Dear Norman Rockwell,

20 feet in depth,
The snow falls and drifts,
Lazily blanketing the landscape.
Workers jerk their brushes over crestfallen cars.
A murder of crows fly overhead,
Fear swells from your pen,
And you dot the sky with some kind of fervor.

This is the main event.
This is the big ticket.
You are the headline act,
One we all came to see!

Dot. Dot. Dot.

Until there’s nothing left.
Nothing left to be seen here, anyway.

Tech Support

All around me, people were staring, as I gazed deeply into the face of my cell phone.
The phone, too, stared, and I was awash in radiant light.
People began to talk.
They began to whisper.
They told me secrets, about how I was:




I looked back, and their faces glowed too,
As if they’d eaten something grey with no defining features,
Like the flesh of ones and zeroes.
They swallowed it whole in groups of ten.
Groups of tens of tens.
Devouring ones and zeroes, to infinity,
Where knowledge is the only currency.
I looked again, and the whole room was ablaze in electronic luminance.
So many liars,
So many deceitful messengers.
They looked at me like I was one of them,
And I was.

An Abrupt End

Hold on, tightly.
It’s yours.
Bury it.

The essence.

Like salt crystals,
They dissolve.
Rumors feed the walls.

And the air is silent,
But for a phantom buzz.