Rear viewed

Time is short,

and getting shorter,

I know this

more and more

every day.

Middle age

is technically

behind me.

The path ahead

is shorter

than what came before…


Just shattered.

I am crawling forward

while looking over

my shoulder.

How can I embrace what’s left

if I can’t see it



Don’t feed the demon

We have all been wounded

by those who judge,

hurl invectives,

put up barriers

or physically abuse.

We have been scarred

and marked by it.

But this

is not

our narrative.

These aggressions,

these demonstratives…

that’s their narrative.

Let it be their epitaph.

It is not the prologue

to our story.

It is what we do despite these things

that will serve to inform

who we are.

Mother’s Day

As I think about things,

my feelings,

the worst parts about

what it is that I am…

I try to remember

that I am just working my way

through the world

one day at a time.

It’s easy to offer advice

to the people around us,

to tell folks,

“I did this, and you should too”.

The reality is,

on any given day,

we’re working out

what it is

we’re supposed to be.

Nobody knows anything.

There are no geniuses,

there are just,

after the fact,


Let’s instruct

one – another.

Outside, out there… out.

Fake it…

just fake it

and keep faking.

Every day becomes

a charade.

Let’s pretend that

we are normal.

Lets pretend that

we do the “typical ” things.

This has been

the last 47 years

of my time

in this social – system.

While the rest of humanity

gets to enjoy the basics

of their day

(as an expression

of their true person)

we must pretend to be normal.

We must pretend to react

to the

day-to-day events

as if they are somehow significant.

When we get home,

when we shut out

the rest of the world,

we take a deep breath,


and try to figure out

who we really are….

It is a level of exhaustion

most will never


Deep cuts

More on melancholy:

Listening to music,


that was seminal

in my twenties.

The words

echoed back through memory,

trying to reinforce

the mood of those times;

they failed.


and experience

have rendered me numb

to these prior aspects.

I’m not sure

that I can be reached,

not by music, anyway…


These albums I listened to

on loop

are all like old photos

of people I once knew:

I recall the moments,

But not why they mattered.