Sailed Newsprint

Adhesive
Scraps rode waves,
Like labels

Glued to show
Kayakers
What went wrong.

Someone dropped
A paper—
Now that’s all

The news faced
Here until
It sinks in.

Life’s No Bourse, You Tragic Simpleton

Dive into any absorbing,
Thoughtful sort of activity,
And you’ll notice a tipping point

Where your absorption starts feeling,
In a niggling way at the edge
Of your awareness, like a waste

Of invested energy when
You could be investing elsewhere.
Then, for that and for no other

Reason, you start to lose the joy,
The pleasant, flow-state contentment
In continuing those actions.

This is a deep form of sadness,
Obsession over investments.

Parable of Her Most Fortunate Soul

The phone rode along
On the roof of the car

Where she’d set it before
Getting back in.

They called it and called it,
When she said she’d lost it,

And everyone could hear
The buzzing announcing

It was near, but no one
Could locate the phone—

Not anywhere in the car,
Not anywhere in the seats,

Not among the piles
Of coats and detritus—

Until one of them asked
Could it be on the roof?

And everyone was amazed
That the phone had survived

Driving all around town,
Unattached, in the dark.