THE SOUND OF WAR

Lightning flashes in the clouds.

I hear the boom and echo 
of detonations in the distance.

I hear the sound of war.

Bashar al-Assad uses white phosphorus

on women and children.

It blisters and burns.  
Fire devours their lungs.

Their footprints are soon 
effaced in the dust.

I hear the roar of the mob, democracy in the raw.

Intelligence is flattened, nuance is lost.

A diplomat in denial doesn't point with a finger,

he points with a gun. 
Russia votes down a no-fly zone. 
The killing goes on.

Lightning flashes in the clouds.

I hear the boom and echo 
of detonations in the distance.

I hear the sound of war. 

I SAW SOCRATES ON THE ROAD TODAY

I saw Socrates on the road today.
His beard was long and gray.
He had stardust in his hair.
His eyes glittered and flashed.
I saw Socrates on the road today.
His beard was long and gray.
His eyes glittered and flashed
I saw Socrates on the road today
I saw pilgrims on their way to Bethlehem.
I saw poets and singers, too.
I saw moms and their kids.
I saw men without masks.
I saw Socrates on the road today.
His hair was long and gray.
I saw Socrates on the road today.
His eyes glittered and flashed.
He had stardust in his hair.
His beard was long and gray
I saw pilgrims on their way to Bethlehem.
I saw poets and singers, too.
I saw moms and their kids.
I saw men without masks.
I saw Socrates on the road today.
He had stardust in his hair.
His beard was long and gray.
His eyes glittered and flashed

The Worst Lies

“You have to believe in your stuff—every day has to be the new day on which the new poem may be it.” —John Berryman

The worst lies, they say, are the ones 
we tell ourselves

when no one else is listening.

A man can lose his way on a dark road,

his headlights can grow dim,

his car crossing a white line

that he no longer sees.

A poem he once believed in falls apart.

A heart stops beating.

Then comes sleep, 
followed by an awakening,

and a new kind of feeling forms, 
unfolding,
even before he can name it.