No Matter

No matter 
what you do, 
float or swim, 
life is life
whether you 
float or not.

There is no 
point.  There are 
no things to 
find.  There is 
nothing that 
matters.  There 
is no more 
matter there 
and nothing 
to hold on 
to any-
where.  There is 
nothing to 
fight for and 
nothing to 
refuse and
only by 
letting all 
these things go
can there be
ever be 
any be
finding be.

One Moment (a flash poem)

(I usually edit, edit, edit, for months, but I'm trying some un-edited stuff)
(...ok...I added one comma...)
(but really, that's all I did)
(I swear)
(I think...) 

One Moment

there is no series
there are no clicks
no clicking moments
no moment when 
one moment 
becomes another
no segments of time
no striations in the stratum
no layering of one on top of another
no clickclickclicking of ticks or tocks
only one moment,
and unimaginably long
and impossibly short

Rondeau, on attention

My attention spans this bridge.  This
gap is a whole in my head, is 
a hole in my hands where I hold
my world together, just an old
vacancy between my stasis

and my change.  This thing that I twist
and twiddle with is still, a list
of paper chasing after folds.
My attention

spans more and less than I am.  This 
space is a place that hides the kiss
of time, hides it in every hole
and makes me time’s churlish cuckold,
held captive by all that has missed
my attention.

...puttin' the Po' in NaPoWriMo...


I am making myself write, at this moment.

I am making myself right, at this moment.

I am making my self, right at this moment.

[thank you mark, for getting me to pull this one out of the archives] [...a fragment of a piece that is trying to make itself...] [...the rite way wround...]