Diagnosis

The providence of light
honors the appetite of all things seen
knows the curvature of space
from the choreography of the red-shifted, to
the bent lamplight of the inner lanes.

In the headlights, opened eyes
a latent disorder is caught deer-sighted
and joining, we work the tantra of an
off-world insight, seeing in the rearview
landmarks, clutch-holds, and signifiers.

Hello, host of house-haunting neuroses
I so want to be gentle with you
the troublemakers who cast shadow puppets
onto appetites that are themselves shadows
in light that I myself provide.

Fine Print

you mark me strange
and I don’t think I like you
but you’re not the mast
on this foundering ship

tightly lashed to nothing
I plunge to depths, or mutiny
it’s nothing to you

and it’s in the fine print
of my public face
that I reserve the right
to stow away the freshest
of what sanity remains

for later, for someone else

Bodhi

I lift my glass to mental health
to mind: the source of matters

single pointed cache of wealth
when flesh and bone are tatters

I toast the peaceful, happy minds
of all you non-mad hatters

compassion’s light will loose the binds
of darkness as it scatters