Day’s Birth

The day did what days do—
Not this day, but that one.
They start and they go on,

And at some point they turn
In a way you could not
Have seen based on the past,

But they can still be dull,
And of course they can be
Done, the dull days, the turns,

The hours that seemed to be
Terse as stones in the weeds,
Like this day’s and that one’s.

You want them to add up,
Not what they add up to.

The Shadow in All Social Scenes

What’s will is irrelevant—
Free, costly, or nonexistent.
All you really care about

Is whether you can do what
You want to do and whether
You can blame other people

For doing as they wanted.
A vote for will’s a yes vote—
Yes, you can; yes, you can blame—

Which feels good, significant,
Except when you’re being blamed.
You wouldn’t care about will,

Poor will, if it weren’t that will
Had implications for blame,
And you should care about blame,

Since it’s dangerous, a blade
In your own hands or others’,
And when the will is invoked

Or denied you can be sure
The question of blame’s engaged,
And at least one soul’s at risk.

The other, happier side
Of will—the dream you can will
What you want, achieve your dream—

Is a little less toothy.
Oh, look what a strong-willed life
You’ve led! Look what you can do!

Careful, however. You know
The shadow of intention
Deepens culpability.

Fly in Amber

Life is a kind of madness

That death makes, wrote Lispector,

After writing that she wrote

To save her life, but before

Of course she died, a bit shy

Of fifty-seven, to then

Say nothing further on death,

Life, or madness she hadn’t

Already said while alive.

Good Question

He quirked an eyebrow.
How miserable
Can life get for you
Before it’s over,
Lets you get to death?

You’re obviously
Going for the full
Trifecta: illness,
Obscurity, debt.
Those drag on a bit.

It’s a long way down
That slope, lots of stones,
Stumps, and broken bones
Before the bottom
Or you stop rolling.

You had your chances
Earlier, exits
By self-destruction,
Sudden accidents,
But you were lucky,

No freeway pile-ups,
No active shooters,
No carpet bombings,
No mere homicides.
Now, how long’s the slide?

In the Nature of Artifice

Every problem with the rules
Remains a problem of rules.
The cost-benefit tradeoffs of rules

Involve vaguely prosocial
Cooperative leanings
Becoming more efficient

And well-coordinated
At the cost of many acts
Of spontaneous kindness.

Cooperation becomes
Cooperating with rules,
Which safeguards against the mess

Of embodied emotions,
Manipulable feelings,
And fuzzy-edged biases.

Rules grow exoskeletal,
Chitinous suits of armor
From extended phenotypes

That can sometimes entangle
And suffocate the social
Imperatives they harness,

But that’s the nature of rules.
Every problem with the rules
Lies in that nature of rules.