Cannot find
in the forest of Styrofoam
or lead painted
apples the fruit
of progress is
numbers that do not
add to the number
of weak stars
alone as though
any space can
ever be bridged
Empty down
to molecules we are
sieves Even the light
passes through
though the bare bulb
may burn flesh
the salmon pink glow
of our holy
shroud reveals
the mineral core
unthinking scaffolding
from which we hang
agency No simple thing
to die when the open
skull goes on
smiling even when
there’s nothing
funny Lips will
fade to dust so go
on speaking the ears
too are not
yours to keep but
the hollow air
is to every one a
promise indelible
promise
Not political, apolitical
believe in humanity, progress
clean consciousness
be right
fresh direction
in life & work
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