Mirror barbershops,
Reflect space, imitate waiting,
Affix stillness, mimic motion,
Brush hair, touch faces,
Weigh shaving cream
In mirrored hands,
Maroon towels, mix tonics,
Cut conversation,
Amend silence, trim excess
In excess of excess.
Month: March 2017
Open Letter to my Son
I’ve been mulling over our conversation. I suppose for a young person today there is a lot of pressure to be successful. You’re ambitious and that’s good. The allure of worldly riches is strong: money, cars, private jets— even islands and countries can be bought. Don’t confuse ambition and happiness. They masquerade for each other and you might not see the difference for a long time. I’m glad though that you can talk to me, that part of you has sympathy for an ageing, not very successful poet. Something tells me you knew I’d say stay in school, finish your degree, don’t sellout your intelligence for mammon. I’ve also met business people with lakefront condos, expensive cars and boats… Their dialogue is all negotiation and their presence half facade. Not one of them could count among their riches the many gifts you already possess. Some of us were chosen for higher things. Love dad.
High Winds
Many broken branches, heavens eroded,
Trees uprooted, the heartwood with rot.
Roof shingles raised, power lines down.
I’ve never seen such wind-blasted light,
Blue diffused into dark, transparent night.
In my mind distance travels like the wind.
Outside our losses, the road of the wind.