Poetry

All I can do
to keep from believing
where, in truth, your last steps led,

There are those that in the distance seem a swarm of gnats
those that with their barking try to rally us in a campaign against the stars
those that torment their prey

Praised be friends. Praise enemies.
Praise the dark above.
Praise hangovers. Praise cigarettes.
The vulture and the dove.

He was an example of anti-nominal determinism,
though he was friendly in manner, kindly
explaining that my light headedness

In some last inventory, I’ll have lost a season,
through the occlusion
of summer by another hemisphere.