Your Advanced States

You’re reading an article
On the laptop, all about
The flirtation of Russia

With North Korea—muscle
In potentia for the war
In Ukraine, more fresh soldiers—

And one of the cats decides
To mark the laptop corner,
And only a lunge prevents

The whole set-up sliding off
And crashing onto the floor
So that, in your advanced state

Of drug and cancer-addled
Desuetude, you’re briefly
Sure that a cat’s behavior

Could be connected to war,
As if domestic moggies
Could influence wars’ outcomes. . . .

Well, causation seduces
The finest minds, so why not
Imagine cats as agents

Of apocalypse, why not?
Sun floods through the open door.
Soon you won’t think anymore.

And Then What Happened?

It was late in October,
Back in twenty-twenty four,
And the balance of the world
Registered precarious.

There were people caught in wars
Or fleeing collapsing states.
There were people expecting
Wars and preparing escapes.

Democracy resembled
Endangered, charismatic
Megafauna—far too cute

To allow to go extinct,
But not a beast most people
Wanted to clean up after.

Donation Store

The idea here was equable
Treatment breaking down barriers
Between those with and those without

By convincing those with plenty
They could cheaply get even more.
Those without were confined to hope.

People have needs. People have wants.
To get at all their needs and wants,
People have people help them out.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it won’t.
If you feel like it worked for you,
Does that mean someone else was screwed?

You wait in your wheelchair as parked.
The sun’s brilliant on the concrete.

Compos Mentis

Can you sync with the air,
With the planet’s breathing
As apart from human rhythms?

Peel apart completely
From the pulse of the news.
Keep from living too long

Within the violence
The era promises.
Die peacefully in bed.

The glow of the sun goes.
The evening will not spare
Quietists from vengeance,

No more than activists
Or anyone else caught
Between inhalation

And coughing helplessly.
But nor will the evening,
As an evening, attempt

To harm you. You watch night
Arrive. The old human
Hearth occupation—watch

And listen to the night
For whatever’s out there.
Watch the night. Be the night.

You can sync with the air.
Live your last without fear—
It’s not next. Next there’s here.

Searching the Seam in the Rhythm

The evening settles slightly
Blue and green at horizon.
Everyone’s planning what’s gone.

It’s ok. It’s got to be.
Every excess leads to dusk,
Every dusk to excess dark

Or the lights of the cities—
Evening’s going down to ground,
Taking its jewel box of lights.

Calm means no obligations
To the quiet you’re craving.
Blue along the garden fence,

Here where there are still gardens
For those without small fortunes,
And the birds sing blue to bed.

Living With It

It’s weird to be dying and thinking,
Frequently, that everything works out.
After a bizarre day Halloween

Costume shopping around town with doom
And the death of the free world at hand,
Or at least at the backs of our minds

(One teen, still too young to vote, asking
A group of friends around the table
If they felt as anxious as she did,

Nods greeting her, a generation
That may soon undertake resistance
They’re not yet prepared for as they shop

For items with which to craft costumes,
Scary but silly, for now, for now),
You noted how that day’s obstacles

And trivial, personal worries
Worked out well, worked out just fine, ok?
The way everything keeps working out,

A fine life, another holiday,
Another holiday, calendar
Full of them, so many quirky days,

Leading you to chuckle at yourself,
Thinking, You see? Everything works out,
And your death sentence you just live with.

When Conditions Were Good

The sudden swell of pink light
Surprised you that morning. Dawn

Is a gradual device,
Even in desert canyons,

But that time, if not a switch,
Then sort of a dimmer switch,

Surging background radiance,
That made you lift your head, look,

And notice the rush of pink,
Day that knew how to begin,

How to wave a bright hello
And wink at good things to come.

A really old-fashioned poem
Would claim humans light dawns, too.