The way the lightning-split
willow was tugged,
wandy and half still alive,
It refused to uncork.
When you badmouth the world and human beings
I sigh and nod like I’m wise instead of blessed.
a night in a bunker when we were
kids in fatigues getting high
listening to Hendrix and the cassette stops
However great my distaste for President Trump, I support his administration’s efforts to extricate the United States from Afghanistan….Prolonging this folly any longer does not serve U.S. interests. Rule number one of statecraft ought to be: when you’re doing something really stupid, stop.
Sometimes I think my face is a map,
each line a faint record of hidden scars,
of what I’ve seen or felt.
The inside of a nutshell is chambered like the heart, with little ridges and flanges where the nut grew and prepared itself for falling into the waiting earth. That’s what I smell when I hold up a nutshell to my nose. It is the odor of anticipation, the willingness to be sacrificed to the sharp teeth of an animal worrying the shell until it breaks.