i have taken
the tapestry of Nietzsche
to pull a dark thread out,
and so too
with Shakespeare and Wagner
while Marcus Aurelius and Margaret Atwood –
theirs may remain whole.

but the others,
when the corrupt was dragged out
they fell to golden shreds;
so what was i to do
but to weave something new
and shelter within its warmth.

perfect moment

sitting in fluffy onesie pajamas
my wife is matching;
she swears up a storm
working through Legend of Zelda
Breath of the Wild trials
while i read volume one
of a two volume set
on the History of Tamriel
of Elder Scrolls fame;
i ponder my children,
i ponder my life
with gratitude;

i am in love.

this perfect moment
could continue forever


maybe it’s crap –
words are shit-stains
written in excrement
and forced out
in red-faced,
constipated rage;

sometimes (rarely)
they explode
in dehydrating violence
leaving me empty
and exhausted;

either way
they frighten
the quiet, gentle masses,
sending them running,
to hide
in the safe dark places.

maybe i just can’t
to save my life
or reach around
and glad-hand
the right people

so i do what i do,
digesting the world
and serving it to you
all piled up on this
nice white platter,
prêt-à-manger –

dig in.