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NAMASTE
There was a time, still withinmemory’s ever more tenuous graspthat I imagined myself, at this age,as a monk in a Buddhist templein Kyoto, that I had assumed a silenceimposed by lack of language, not faith. I am certain that the Japaneseare pleased that I let that dreampass unfulfilled, that I confinemy practice to that American…
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T-CK T-CK
I cannot determine whymy clock only tocks, as ifsomewhere back timeits ticks beat a hasty retreat. My life is increasingly likethat, a growing series of disconnects,as if life itself, outside of meis enduring a progressive dementia. Perhaps I shouldn’t complain,for both time and I knowthat every one of those ticksis owed to me and I…
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THE SUN ROSE
The sun rose this morning,as if the day were not in anyway out of the ordinary, daynumber far too large to countfor those with finite capacity. The birds begin, their harmoniouscacophony, though they thinkit their lauds, matins of reflectionburned off with the dew underthe gentle glare of a morning sun. They watch us begin to…
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LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO
It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…
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TOO LATE
Do those, whoimagine themselves leaders,or smarter and betterthan the rest of us, andwho deny science, (no,the amassing of moneyis not a law of physics)plan to take up swimming? Or will they waituntil the bears areat their door, theirwhite coats grayedby the lastbelches of soggycoal, and then bemoanthe fact thattheir yachts havefloated off onthe rising seasthat…
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KEGON RETURNS TO DELUSIONS 鐵笛倒吹 語十二
If a gentle flowerfalls from its branch,do you mourn its departure?The fool attemptsto place it back in the tree,the wise one waitsfor another flower to appear. Each is the same flowerbut how will the foolbecome wise? A reflection on case 52 of the Iron Flute Koans
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ME ME
Coming soon perhapsbut hard to saychoose carefully a moment whenmeme andavatarmerge and youcease to exist or exist twiceand whichyou isreal is leftto others but that youis immortalnow unlessbeset bya magneticcatastrophe, butyou’ll likelybe ashes andshould notgive a damn.
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ON THE WALL
Each morning, once I have completedthe often unpleasant task of draggingmyself from the womb of blankets, I makemy appearance in front of the mirror. I stare closely into it, and am unsurprisedto find it returning my stare,and on every occasion, I noticethat the mirror has once againchosen to wear the same clothes as I,albeit not…
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RETIREMENT
He would arrive as I was still strugglingto convince the dog that he didn’t needto drag me around the neighborhood,that he knew the backyard well enough. I’d lose the argument in the end, thatwas a given, but he’d concede meenough time to wolf down breakfast,and I’d hear the small door in the wallopen and then…
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A LOST PEN
I wrote a poem for my father,about how one afternoonthe oddly green ’57 Caddyappeared in the drivewayand he polished its chrome for hours,even waxed the black bumper bullets.It was the love of his lifehe said, except for his wife,he added after a moment.The years would provethat addition was most likely false.I could send him the…
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an old writer and his words 