Tenure

Let me tell you who I am,
and what I do –
if they’re distinct? –
then you can make up your own mind
if you’re living true;
being me, in you.
***
An early bird, I feed the dogs,
and head on down to an empty gym,
enjoying the absurdity of exercise at dawn,
finishing my workout before you’ve even woken up.

A pot of coffee on the go, I catch up on the news,
rifling through my email, making notes so not to lose
the feel for how the day will play, and pander to my goals,
so by the time I enter in, I’m prepped for all the roles.

It’s after five, but not yet six, I wrap up to head home;
I use the walk to file and form the things I’ve come to know.
We walk the dogs, we cook up food, we catch up on our days,
we wonder about the future, or we roll about in play,
or find ourselves absorbed in tasks, and all can be okay;
variety forms edges to our long-extended stay
upon, within, beside this earth – for which we shall adventure,
and document through artful means
that long outlive our tenure,

so that we may be remembered by the art we leave behind;
impressions of the time we took to organize the mind.

 

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What we owe

Given all the time we’ve had,
and were it now that needs and musts
come to the fore, and bear their wares –
a fierce demand that forms implied,
in lieu of calling it by name,
or of looking it in the eye –
then we in turn must inside-out
and empty all our carriers of coins;
the tax is high for what we owe.
The only thing we learnt to grow.

Swell

I caught myself
falling
face first with eyes closed…
and it felt like dissappointment when
I managed to regain consciousness,
regain balance, retain my teeth;
I wonder were it better if
I’d dashed my face into the corner,
breaking something, or many things,
so that I may be permitted to stay home awhile
to recover from the falls that neither
bleed, nor bruise, nor swell.

Valient

The flow between the swift and high,
in slips, and steps, and slides, together,
make this a feast for those who yearn
to taste the thumping force they weather;
dancing through the dash of storms,
wherein the thrawls of crimson valor,
name themselves as Kings, as Queens,
as Gods to those who tap and stagger.