Fetch

“When you run after your thoughts, you are like a dog chasing a stick: every time a stick is thrown, you run after it. Instead, be like a lion who, rather than chasing after the stick, turns to face the thrower. One only throws a stick at a lion once.”—Milarepa

Source: Wildmind

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Somethings

Anything can happen
but it never really does.

Instead it’s always something.
Why is that?

               Because.

Reveille

the absurdity of life
really should be enough
of a wake-up call, but I’m
locked in a legal battle
with this snooze button
whose attorney calls her
first witness: the chaste
saffron light of dawn
and I sleep deeply
through the glowing mist
of its testimony

Rib

The bone itself, gone
a stunt double in its place
its owner’s family name recorded
on a little card behind the glass.

Maybe we think of fossils as
being all done with aging
and the ravages of time, simply done
and settled into a final rest.

Now recumbent on speckless felt
once removed, do the next million
years look forward to wearing down
that gouge made by a flint weapon?

Our bones today, somewhere between
the dust and the dust, and
maybe we can fancy ourselves
a million years removed from demise,

Our protesting bones, gone
substitutes pulling the day-shift
museum posers the lot of us, as the future
gazes curiously upon our mineralized remains.

Siri, Where is My Mind

Climbing stairs
my feet aren’t even beneath me
I am arguing with someone, or counting money.

I wash a cup
the suds don’t touch me
my hands are where they will be, upon her body.

I speak
claiming to be present
my own intentions in the shadows, hiding from me.

In the latrine
I pinch out two tiny turds
and deliver a rousing speech to a vast assembly.

This mind of mine
quite the mind of its own
it runs around like a damned unfaithful lover.

Amok with ideas
like intrigue in a house divided
will I even be here when they turn and cut my throat?