call it what you will

i'm feeling taxed

brain weakens under the drought

of learning

crazy, isn't it?

no learning in an age

of mixed radio signals

chorus of machines

singing in digital rhyme

yet there we sit

stoic, nervous, but yet

resilient

as the waves pound us

slowly

but with no water, no surf

and no tide

just an undercurrent

of electric juice

poured from a towering blender

called

progress

my garden wall

we built us a garden wall, she and i

of rusty tin and iron scraps

no contract needed

no indemnification clause

just the heat of daylight

and the need

to keep the garden safe

so in the garden

the children play

the sand beneath their feet

in the hours before twilight

but still no fauna in the yard

no trickle of water to keep them just so

what good is a garden wall?

night falls softly

below the umbrage of day

we hear the soft wind,

smoke a pipe of clay

and wonder again

why a garden wall?

to keep out the sand?

never, not for a moment

the time to rest nears

the children are quiet

and as she stands, the moon shows

the garden looms dark

but only a pale darkness

for it too cannot grow

a country separated

simple, painful steps across the sand
no mounting hope, only infinite sorrow
the looking pack, married to wanting
so deep, the sand sinks into itself

and there, beyond the fringes of the desert
of our mild-mannered destiny
we wait and we pine
for the desert to slip away
for the gentle rain of forgiveness to atone
for the past's many wrongs
and for the night to clear
so we may return, tired and hungry,
to our warm beds at home

still just human

saints depart

every day

solemn, pensive

on their way

held up, on our backs

as we simply watch

the ascent

as we meekly pray

saints commence

a slow pilgrimage

to earth's final step

nothing gained

nothing lost

all is forgiven

the journey complete

the final score tallied

stone templates

are all that remain

but no more saints

a very long walk indeed

polar opposites

you and me

no ounce of will

between us

to sort out the mean streaks

put down our weapons

adorn our life

with unconditional love

for 'tis an upstream struggle

facing demons

dreaming big

and conquering the next fathom

and the next

one for which we've no mettle

nor plan to settle

so let us saunter a bit

together

take in long tables of food and wine

laugh, listen, cry,

and paint an entirely boundless time

of joy

out of the clear blue sky

the human vessel

scene of waking up

hair spiked, ransom of daylight

life flows slowly, veins transport

the angel's breath

the devil's gaze

through me

not for want of anything

but simply looking for

a place to rest

this is life

nothing less

nothing more

more or less forgotten

stained impressions of maple leaves

the concrete, too, holds a memory

though not for long

and not, to any degree, very anything

for when the rain pours,

heavy with its sameness,

the leaves swim for safety

while the sidewalk spreads

the memories of dead plants

along its not so ruddy cracks and crevices

no longer a parchment for Nature

but merely a manufactured stone vault,

cold, damp, and

heavy with its sameness

adt

short hills, nj

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