some other old poems

Sand

In the aftermath of an earthquake,

Amidst ripped-open landscapes

stand jutting mountains and gaping chasms.

No longer invisible below the surface,

stratified layers expose all weakness,

layers of silt and sand underlying firmer ground.

The first thought after devastating destruction

Is renewing broken infrastructure,

Reconnecting the interstate highways

That brought two together.

The best steps are those taken slowly,

Not the hasty efforts to put together

Bridges and tunnels that won’t stand,

Castles that eventually fall into the sea.

The better move is to take note

Of the places where the earth is still soft.

One must take pains to fortify and strengthen

Any foundations located atop shifting, silt-riddled ground,

Lest new architects redevelop massive edifices on

The same fragile spots that felled

more ancient structures. 

borne ceaselessly

I know things that no one wants to admit aloud these days:
things whispered in drunken earnestness during a creeping sunrise;

things that crumple in the harsh rays of the afternoon sun.

Someone plants the seed and it blooms for a brilliant moment.
So seductive in its short life, and in death, such an ugly, shriveled mess
that refuses to release its roots to the gardener's firm grasp.
Still, it remains more beautiful in memory than a thousand roses.

So I beat on.