Time makes poor ugly idiots
of the living and their lesser lords –
no pharaoh’s hoard included
a microwave, or a combination
printer/scanner –
what use
was caveman wealth?
What worth in
gaudy feathers and
flimsy filigrees
compares to central heating?
How stupid, how silly,
togas, gambeson,
and double-breasted suits,
how foolish will we all seem
to those unborn
at the end of time?

100% Survival Rate

Nobody suspects they’re the ones
who won’t survive;
elders on heart medicine or
kids who’ve never grown potato –
what does it mean to survive
if nobody we know is going to die?

What world do they anticipate,
what drive to survive will remain
when they are rousted, mid-dream,
to discover a world
where a survivor must truly,
truly, be alone.

How Far Their Reach

Something strange on the wind
new colors on new shapes
crouched low and silent,
all unknown things
are deadly things –
how far away is safe?
will it gesture, and
with a terrible yollop
strike us deaf and dead
at fifty meters?
or is it placid, patient,
killing only by accident
or convenience,
a living snare
waiting for any
clumsy footfall?

Beautiful Flower

The beautiful flower
in your mind
– leaves reaching as malformed hands –
is not the one
I’m thinking of.

And every detail
– stamen like held cigars –
divorces them
– petals like stained fingernails –
a little further.


it must be something, moving,
some living memory –
do all forgotten things
slumber low and long,
dreaming of being remembered
until – a picture shifting in the hall,
thuds in the wall,
silverware sliding,
a figure gliding –
and they are remembered once more.