A Sunday in the Life


Four in our fine, young bunch,
we wander back up to the neighborhood,
wild finesse in the late, still acid-tinged twilight.
We go on smiling gently & lightly laughing,
a graceful fade into repose in our bungalow,
just a street down the way.


Then it’s the righteous renewal,
the calmly curious Sunday in the life,
a state of “as”.
We meet the sun & press,
settling into a slow fall;
reading & writing, sitting & smoking,
finagling & footballing, breathing in
a delicately emergent playlist,
musing & mustering a mild magic.

Love Letter to a Friend


We were put on Earth to pass time together.
I’m having trouble finding you.
I’ve looked in all the normal places,
but you’re almost nowhere to be seen.
Please don’t disappear on me.

I want to share it all with you:
What I’ve learned & my mistakes.
There’s songs & psalms & big big thoughts
that call your name & wait & wait…

Byt you are trapped somewhere else.
I cry & writhe to think the place.
Only you can come between
yourself & your incredible brightness of being:
This own light will guide you out.

But we are here to catch & qualm
to get each other through & to
this blueish wide electric world
deep with love & boogaloo.

It’s hard for me that you don’t see:
I need you just as you need me.
Escape this wayward density.
Don’t let that spirit atrophy.
The weight you bear is not your own
Forgiveness is the only road
out of your someplace, wherever you are
& when you’re ready, I’ll have open arms.
But please, don’t disappear on me.

The world is waiting for your gifts,
your sparkle & your fingertips.
Don’t hold them tight or from within;
pour them out for all to see
the One that you were meant to be:
curious caring, climbing trees.
Just please, don’t disappear on me.