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Tuesday, October 20, 2015


a rush . . .
as if all that was tall straight and stable
were now bending.

a sleepy amazement
about all that men built

from the window of a late cab
speeding home
I no longer care enough
of what will or can or might happen.

the tide of events
spins irreverent, a sacrilege
toward a private ending.
my own?
how lonely that would seem.
my children my children,
the die is cast
they need me or not at all
at times my wife is a person I cannot talk to

Before her I was unfocused
I had principles I was naive
in love with strangers
eyes to the heavens.
now I focus on the earth ahead.

Yet know I lie buried somewhere
gnawing to find purpose
the source of drive
what is it?
it wakes each cursed day
setting me on a journey
through a disconnected world
listening to a story I cannot hear.


My son’s clear honest eye 
sees to the heart of me
I am humbled

My daughter’s feet climb my legs and chest
I am humbled

We are all made humble
By our less humble nature

But as nature humbles us
We rebel against humbleness
We strive to be
something else.

By my un-humble nature
So my nature
Rails against my humbleness

Were I less humble
I might lift my head
And drop my pride.

How that humbleness burns!

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