poetry

The Theory of Relativity and The Speed of Light

All the pretty lights
shine
flicker
and blind me.
I stumble,
and try to grab on to something,
someone,
to keep from falling.

I don’t know which way to go.
What to say.
The years spin,
faster and faster.
You’d think,
it’d get slower,
cause of friction.

My grandfather used to tell me,
when he caught me flipping the light switch
on and off and
on and off again,
repeatedly,
that it’d use up the light bulb;
and that the light switch
had only a number of on offs in it.

My grandmother
just told me,
that time might go by slow
in the beginning,
but it picks up speed,
as you got closer to the end.

poetry, Syllable Tapestries

Water

It is water

I must drink

Nothing else

Will cleanse my soul.

Deposited

Here

You will hear it,

Clearly,

Our own sad story.

 

I’ve made mistakes.

with a kiss,

others, a fist,

some by running

while others standing still.

 

The sadness?

 

I inherited.

For inside me

is an unwavering light,

& no place to hide.

 

Do you recognize me now?

poetry, Syllable Tapestries

Ode to my Truck

With the moon in its fifth day of waning

and the artic air waxing,

the night was vast and cold.

I coasted her to rest w/in the shoals.

The tar river was roaring,

even so late.

The thunder of the big trucks

whizzing by.

She shook,

for she must have been cold too,

frozen more like it.

 

I tuck my hands underneath my thighs

trying to keep my fingertips from freezing.

My breath freezes on the windows.

 

Please listen, to the story,

The places we’ve been,

Her engine singing to me.

She was my companion,

my home.

With her,

I pulled one dream

out of another.

poetry

MAYBE

 

Masks offer themselves to us:

maybes, possibilities, uncertainties and almosts.

Beneath we feel them,

their taste,

though bitter,

is almost satisfying;

however, the gracefulness lends to turbulent underneaths.

 

Where does it fall?

Mas o minos yes?

or Mas o minos no?

Does it hope to renew the center,

embracing itself from afar?

 

Maybes and Possibilities frighten me.

Uncertainties.

Too vast a project.

Too big a bite for the heart’s mouth.

& the sauce?

In its simple and tragic depth,

it makes me ashamed I even asked.

No matter how pious I felt the objective was.