Author Archives: threadfollower

Direction

The dollar calls from the direction of irony
where spirit, this time, attaches itself 
with blessings and Sunday ceremonies.

The voices of plenty shout from the other side,
dwelling in pages of countless books lined
on shelves dwindling to the horizon.

I live uncomfortably in the space of paradox,
between incongruity and enough, hoping
for the strength to simply abide.

Duplex Dream

I said, "Last night I dreamed of living 
in the lower level of a duplex."

She said, "Surely it was a nightmare
knowing the space where you lived
when I first met you."

I said, "Though my stay ended so lovely.  
You riding in on your beautiful stallion 
to save me."

She laughed.  "I remember calling out
for you to let down your hair so I could
pull you up."

I laughed too and added, "And here 
I had just taken the clippers to my hair."

She said, "And thus began our long
tradition of making do with what
the other has given to us."

Shoes

I have changed residences once again
     though the front porch I sit on remains the same. 

The play of the sunlight and of the maple tree leaves
     dapples the ground at my feet and I think of you.  

I am eating blueberries, one at a time, careful to not
     get the tiny seeds caught between my teeth,

the way yesterday’s problems tend to tuck
     themselves between the floorboards of my living space,

as if taking a nap will make them fresh for the journeys 
ahead; a trip to the grocery store, the gas station, 

to the place selling shiny electronics which
     eat up whole paychecks in one bite and to the shoe store.  

I like shoes.  And, if my small pocketbook would
     allow me, I would wear a different pair every day

And walk before you. 

Demands

What is the chance for destruction 
     to follow the same path,
     by wind or by water or by fire,
     twisting, taking, turning,
     collecting possessions
     into its embrace?

Is the death of one child not enough
     or must the demands
     of the demons who cry, More,
     make offerings a daily ritual,
     to be met with trembling
     and with tears once again?

Dreams

I have seen balls turn uphill,
neither rolled nor thrown,
when the world went upside down.

And the streets grew wider
making a way for thousands
to walk abreast holding hands.

Sheets removed themselves
from lion-clawed chairs.  Food 
and drink appeared on tables.

Warnings turned into eyes
wakening, dressing for time
captured during the day.

And the mudball needed
just a light rub or two
to become golden.

The Latest Report from the Stars

I said, "The flower must die
for the sake of the fruit."

She asked, "Are you purposely
being morbid to make a point
or seeking to pollinate conflict?"

I answered, "Just passing along
the latest report from the stars."

She said, "Without the first stars
exploding into dust there would 
be no flower."

Satisfied, I said, "I was hoping to land 
ourselves into the midst of an infinite 
regression."

She said, "If that is the case then let
us dance in the vastness of all that
comes before us."

Blood Ink

     “I am used to
      making ink from my own blood.” - Abdulla Pashew

I sighed with relief when evil passed by
unaware of its existence while mechanisms
for bringing goodness began to turn with the 
first bird call of the morning to raise the sun.

Remaining anonymous carries ferocity yet
dancing unknown steps for something 
calls the poets to liberate pens and letters
onto pages stained with the marks of history.