Daily Archives: August 5, 2017

The Empty

I’d rather be
a horn 
in a great
player’s hands, or

a stout pocketknife
sitting on a woodcarver’s 
bench waiting
to whittle; 

I imagine there’s a master’s 
breath pouring through me
with some great song, or
a master’s hand wielding me

to pull a dragon from
a block of rosewood.
Channel, not channeler;
vessel to be emptied

of what has filled me
from a source, the Source.
I am nothing here but
glad to be of service,

seeing myself
as what rests in the Hand
of the Maker and what will be
laid aside when all is done.

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Work To Be Done

I rise early to start work
upon a treatise 
to be called,

“An Inquiry Into Not Being
Violently Sick To My Stomach From
Reading The News.”

I don’t have a clue as to 
how to begin this. There
is no talk therapy for it.

Every effective pill is either fatal
or so obliterating that
the rest of my life

would be swept away too.
I could do what some do and 
never open a book or paper

again and try to forget, sink into
coffee or beer or weed, play 
the oldest music I could remember,

plug into unplugging from the right now.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t tried
all that; I’m not capable of lying

anymore. My stomach keeps me
honest, spits up truth in spite of my fear.
As convulsed as I am minute to minute 

it would be hard to say
I’m not a better person for it:
my gut’s well-toned enough now

from retching to take whatever
stab or blow or bullet that comes;
even if I am pierced, even if I am killed,

I will leave this work behind and survive.
I dip my head over the page,
fight back what’s in my throat, and begin.