I have

no control over

what you think

you see

when you peep

into my windows

but but but

he motorboated

you were…

as I said

what you think

you saw

was not

what was happening

but but but…he goes

lets think about this shall we?

you a peeper

a creeper

versus a fella & his woman

minding their own

in the sanctity of their home

doing what they please

breaking no laws

but you were

need I say more?


reading Nietszche

to be told for all us

god is dead

everything is now

but physics at play

nature in tooth & claw

holding sway

feeling the disappointment

when I wanted more

searching to understand

finding metaphor

the lover you loved more than day

you find has another lover

when you thought they were yours

that sense of bewilderment

knowing this to be true

but still wanting to hold onto

what you once knew to be so

mebbe like me nietszche

confused by the trappings of church

like I confused what she said

& what she actually did

one night howling

out in the deep woods

sucking on the booze

clearing my head of the city

the shitty stuff we do to each other

in the sadness of living & wanting

compulsion came to write something

all I could find was a stick

digging into the soft sand

lit in the thin light of the moon

sonnets stanzas slick couplets

dragged in the sand & gloom

feeling good about the dust raised

words carved into the earth

finally falling onto the same dirt

to wake one eyed wondering

what had survived the night

& the glory sight of the stick

still standing right & upright

footsteps everywhere clouding

seems for every one thing I wrote

I’d stamped all over that for the next

to drag in another note to self

& if that ain’t a metaphor

whether for the impermanence of life

the majesty of the poet drunk

mebbe don’t drink & drive stick

transience of the written word

maybe nothing is