Food Court


Consume and regurgitate

ideologies and misinformation.


to survive.

Create energy.

Waste it.

Such waste.


Good taste.


the skin around my fingernails

in anxious contemplation.


This parasite




the world.


Spring Ritual

I chose a grey, hazy day in early Spring,

just as the snow has evaporated,

and a frosty wind still burns your fingers and face.

I wander along the beach awhile,

knowing I’ll be left alone,

and sit on the salt-smoothed boulders,

staring out to sea.

The foam gathers on the shore.

The clapping and crashing of the water

drowns out the call of the gulls.

I am present in this moment.

A few rays of light escape the clouds

and the ocean glitters like a rolling multifaceted jewel.

We are born again

out of ice and snow.

We ebb and flow

and respond to the moon.


Walking in from the Car

In their bog, the peepers’ wild chirps

resemble screams.

The shed creaks and groans.

I look up and the night is starless.

I feel alone

but watched.

Who observes my head tilted back,

palms toward the sky?

A passing thought,

at first invisible, then


Whispering realization,

an almost tangible idea

of another in the writhing shadow.

I move quickly to the door.


Flick the lock.

Check it again.

Just to be sure.

Still feeling watched through the naked windows.