Jose Padua: Prelude to a Highly Personal Confabulation of Zen and the Art of War
how I could one day live in New York City
with half my mind in a flame-like state
of absolute intensity
Michael Simms: The end of civilization as we know it
I want to apologize for walking in
When the dog was licking
Your bald head as you lay
On the couch drinking rum
Straight from the bottle…
Jose Padua: Glenn Gould’s Search for Petula Clark
Thinking of what might have been,
I save every piece of paper and take my time
coming down from the mountain, believing
in the wisdom of taking the long way home.
Jose Padua: Notes on the Crepuscular Effects of the Music of Thelonious Monk on the Noise of White Supremacy
the little glimmers
of late autumn light
are more than
enough to take you
where you need
to go
Jose Padua: The Old Man and Other Bright and Beautiful Landscapes
an evening sky hanging
over a slowly moving brown river as
dark birds flashed their wings before
disappearing into the lush mystery
of tall swaying trees was a memory
that came rushing to me from the quiet
Jose Padua: On the Loving Grace of Well-Oiled Machines
but maybe that’s how
patriarchy works,
so fast and efficient
when it comes to killing,
so in love with the magic
of finding beautiful new worlds
to destroy
Jose Padua: In Contemplation of the Failure of Empires
ready for everything
in the world that’s dim, dark,
shady and beautiful; ready for
the city that moves us like a river
Jose Padua: Around the Corner from the Neighborhood Convenience Store and Four Thousand Miles from the Streets of Barcelona
the good ole boy,
sitting up high in
his pickup truck
and smiling smugly
Jose Padua: Where I’m From And The End Of These Days of Smooth Skin
Walk so that everyone knows where you’ve been
and where you’re going, weathering
both trouble and affection, the gravel roads
turning into dirt.
Jose Padua: It Was the Summer After the Summer of Love
it’s the first time in my life
that I’ve ever had an image
or maybe it just an idea
(which was still bad enough)
of my parents doing it,
having sex, grabbing each other
Jose Padua: The Art of Moving or Alternate Interpretations of an Old Blues Song
Back then, whether or not you agreed with the white man, you didn’t question him, because that meant trouble and my family didn’t want trouble with anyone.
Jose Padua: Walking to Prospect Hill and Back on These Still Slow Days of Spring
our days growing warmer, our nights
shorter as we cross paths with every-
thing that lives and breathes or flies
Jose Padua: And the Stars Shine Like Dim Light Bulbs at the Old Motel Downtown
yes there are stars
in the sky and even though they are dim
and don’t shine for us it is by their light
that sometimes with a little luck and a little
persistence we get where we’re going anyway.
Jose Padua: At the Old Jail Downtown
Walking the creaky wooden
floorboards on the second
floor of the museum
at the old jail downtown,
we’re taken back in time…
