"There Is No Going Back"

~ The New York Times, February 5, 2025

But history does love a reboot.
One that pivots on the specifics
of somebody else’s ashes.

We, the doomed—light-loving 
in cute T-shirts. Us, a summer child, 
our soft spots growing dark.

Forest folk follow the old 
system, less keen than we 
to scream out about nature 

or feel duty-bound to see the 
world as wholly good or evil. 
& so they give aid & comfort 

to the wolves in their midst
undoing honor for next to 
nothing or to feel patriotic.

Man, you are here. A slight 
ripple from the inside.

———

My ducks are in a row
quaking in their boots. 
But we are not hurting

enough yet. Don't you know
that dog won’t hunt a 
goose that’s already cooked?

Try to keep up. We are in the 
woods and it will be wild.

———

Is there a sign on my
back that says, Smite Me?
My spine is brilliant with

with radical pain. Still, I am 
meeting the moment with 
Instagram-ready activities 

like lighting myself on fire.
Zero sum or bust.

———

History is rhyming again.
The garden path is a 
window closing. The square

root of nothing is the price
of eggs. All this harshes my 
mellow to the extreme.

———

Before the fact of canned
goods, we were hiding & fleeing
the bully on the playground.

Now we wallow in his wishes.
Say grace at the tea party 
thrown in his honor.

Punch-drunk on a blizzard of
soft pleasures: bread, circuses
reality TV & football. 

Big laugh, haha.

———

I don’t like the odds of this
century. Us, with a body, head 
attached & a hazily recalled past.

So I spin a yarn, write it in stone.
But like so many things, it’s 
just words on a piece of paper. 

Banked bravado & good will.

———

In these dark scenarios, are we the 
proverbial oyster? A thought 
experiment gone feeble? A shallow 

reserve of noble & bold assumptions? 
How do we pull the trigger on vigor? 
Flip the usual & become vital? 

(Holy optimism, Batman!)

———

We see the world, the forest folk 
& the trees. We see that the 
sky is falling down on dawn.

It is his time to shine—a holy
triumph, a heartbeat, a hellfire passion
—too close to the sun. 

We are awake. What’s next?

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