Slow Leak (For You, Larkin)

Stopping to fill my

Tire with air,

My mind sleep-talks:

"Hissing bliss--

Hit and miss--

Of the pneumatic

Kiss."

Then, satisfied

With this versified

Smack of mundanity

(And scribbling shy memory's

Wrinkled receipt),

I drive on.

My Proof of God's Existence

Women rapaciously seek the security marriage affords, but for the whole gulp of human history have been almost completely politically disenfranchised, and hence could not solidify marriage as a cultural-religious institution.

Men flee from commitment, squirm during the ceremony, and consider the ring a hollow button for freedom’s termination—yet they controlled every major cultural and religious institution up until about yesterday.

Now you tell me--who dunnit?

Concision

Here is something I found in a discarded journal, wedged humbly at the bottom of the page in sloppy resignation, after a protracted treatise stippled with the spray of anxiety.

"Meaning is the convergence of all experience on and the eruption of all creativity from a single point in the individual, which is in fact the individual himself, at his deepest point, which alone gives earnest coherence to his otherwise multifarious existence."

If your response is a replayed plea for gender neutrality, I'm afraid you've missed the point.

To Rilke

I.

Though none hold you holy,

I think you are sacred,

Snow.

Stopped in my tracks

(For now they appear),

You are no blanket,

But life's unveiling:

A step entails commitment's crackle,

A sin against silence,
Yet standing still invites

The fate of statues.

Whiteness of life, so

Silently insistent:

A whispered demand for your own

Desecration.

II.

Yet soon you are mended,

And we are forgotten in your fabric.

Then all of that anxiety--

Where to go? What to do?--

Anxiety over how best to imprint ourselves

Is lost in the layers,

And all of our questions are answered

With a billion blind ellipses.

God,

Still we fear

That you will cease

To fall.