A world demanding meaning alternates between cynicism and starry eyes.

See, all a detail must do
is matter to be written down.

And all a detail must do to matter
is to occur,

You primal man!
You human being!

With twitching groin and heated breathing
misting as a waterfall out onto heaving neck.

One of millions staying home,
desiring food and craving sex.

There’s a tree which grows on the side of the road.
It stands not alone, nor hidden at the heart of an enchantied woodland.
Ordinary and unassuming, it meekly joins the scattered foliage dotting the local park.

Pass this plant on your trek to work, and notice how you don’t notice it at all.
Listen as it asks no attention of you. Feel the stagnant air as the modest tree
makes no attempt to draw you in. Its aura keeps to itself, taking only the space that its bark requires.

Pass the tree again, however, as you head back home to the warmth of blankets,
the delight and safety of lying down. Pass the tree when the night has fallen, when the sun itself has fallen too.

It was, of course, after the pastor said
that emotional memory can make up details that seem to fit the feeling we felt,
and after you confided in me all about your power to cave-
how you are her sane and grace, while she’s stuck irrational,
but you understand- because I understand! I always understand.
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You called like a god, celebrity
or college freshman,
so I put my Nair down, wrapped a towel around my shame,
glued my wet ear to the fragile phone, said hello
instead of, “Why me?” and let you worship, effuse like I
was way more than the wallpaper at my brother’s parties.

I’d been the entertainment once, back before the parties-
whispering nicknames and manipulations, like a kid sister alone can.

That was back before you, drivers licenses,
meet ups. But you were not before forsaken plans,Read More »