wednesday, june 1

in my life it seems like
there's a measure of imbalance
in the warp and weft of things

in the world there
is violence latent and
actual, something between
incredulous laughter and
cold certainty stalks
the edges of our conversations
hopes that we held once
now curdle and recede, we wait
it almost seems
for that blood-dimmed tide

in the lights that burn
as i write these words
on the chemical ash of forests —
well, what is electricity but the rush
of coal with more liquidity
and in it the sound of
sentient life playing out as the inevitability
of self-organizing matter
turning again and again to the principle
of self-immolation

in my house now it is quiet:
a compressor in the fridge
the evening birds through open windows
the neighbors throwing horseshoes
cars out on the road, more and
more occasionally
now and then the outlines
of a voice, indistinct
my pen scratching on the page
ice melting in my glass
the ticking of a timex

and in the quiet
my mind quiets itself a little
the too-quick looping back on itself
is temporarily suspended
and my breathing seems to come easier

as it did the other night in kansas
sleeping next to an open window
on a farm in the country, all the bugs
just outside the screen, the running fan
beside the bed

and here in colorado, walking out on my
front step, i can hear hummingbirds
contesting territory
the band at the doomed bar across
the highway

and all the motions of a still-living world

the thing about the dying, i read recently
is that they are still alive
and if we are all of us the dying
and our world with us
well, we are also yet the living

tags: topics/colorado, topics/kansas, topics/poem

p1k3 / 2016 / 6 / 1