New curtains draw 
and blinds cleve 
this quiet night 
even buildings sleep
like an army 
of giants whose 
freshly sharpened blades
catch the last 
moments of moonlight 
as their animals 
stir and rise
slowly as the 
mountains behind them 

I’m just 
another corner 
in a
very big
round room
where nothing 
ever gathers 
lest it 
define me 
as something 
other than 
this nothing 

For me 
that is
this pursuit 
of temporal 
follies such 
as sex
wastes one’s
life energy 
imagine bottling 
it up 
feeling it
seethe looking 
for any
escape denying 
it same 
letting it 
steep stew
and age 
drink this 
desire now 
get drunk 
on its 
immaturity or
wait until 
its aged
and then 
savor it 

Holy moly 
and schmokers
if I 
didn’t when 
my mind
said no 
I would 
be back 
there on
the shelf 
behind the 
prunes next 
to cardamom 
and sage 
waiting waiting
wondering why 
and when 
it might 
be me
wishing I 
were pepper 

Fear is funny
a comedy a
frequent stand up 
routine but the 
jokes on you 
fear doesn’t exist 
not out there 
anyway anywhere beyond 
your own nose 
fear is fantasy 
a thought and 
the antithesis of 
almost everything not 
an alternative but 
an abstract not
life certainly not 
that fear tastes
bitterly of death