Its A Total Sunset In Here

I Don't Know How They Keep Finding Me

Any Given Tuesday

New Hampshire

Don't Give Up The Ship

dx and px

Easter came, then went.
I have this illness, this disease.
Its at odds with resurrection, rising, birth, life.
It wants me
dead.
Dead is not so bad. Yet,
claws in the wood, dragging a steady length of scratch
all the way down.

No. No, if you, if anyone, asks:
I am not ready
at all
to go.

April, As Is

As it turns out
I have nothing
to say to you.
Nor you
me.
Are we hung out to dry? I'm
not yet dry
how about you, or anyone you know? It
doesn't matter. Its just shipping
and receiving
and loading
docks. I love a dock best in the morning
with no wind
a piece of bread
and the friendship of expectant fish
ogling me
but appropriately so
through the scrim of breath-still water
water, temperature, fog and mist
everything rising
up
and up
to clear skies
and solid state sun
ripple
sparkle
and watch.