No. 3

•10 October 2016 • Leave a Comment

Time, time, there is always time —

Until, of course, there is no time.

Flat, hyperbolic, elliptical;

Two of three applicable to whatever today is “fitness.”

Yet this is spacetime…

Four squirrels and a chipmunk fighting.

Nuts of a mundane variety on a paint-chipped deck,

An October afternoon of no consequence,

Watching rodents eat things,

Pondering the timing of Lag B’Omer.


The universe expands forever or contracts;

A spot of nothing on a towel of nothing —

Better to be Omar or Littlefinger;

Smell the tide before it changes.


Yes, the ice smells great out here;

You should give it a chance,

Frozen and forgotten, just like song;

Play it again for me, will you?

No. 2

•9 October 2016 • Leave a Comment

“No. 2”


Grey as the raven-dark the bullet flies

Destined for a port unseen.

Now, it could be that poker with the gods

Ends in a broken table.


This one bears splinters unseen,

Long and rapier-thin.

Though to wield it requires a skill

She may not yet possess.


One can outrun a police SUV,

Dodge a stray shot now and then;

But what can one do to fight her,

If she herself is wood and steel?

Untouched by time yet frozen,

Words retain yet the power to feel,

To fight her perhaps with a weapon

No device will ever match.


“Yes, perhaps.” She tells you,

“There are worlds unseen,

Where our kind could play ball.

But they are not your world.”


A streetlamp calls to her world,

One of grating things.

You are part of it now, you think,

As wood and steel meet bone and flesh.

No. 1

•8 October 2016 • Leave a Comment

I don’t know what this means:

“A circular saw cuts things

In pieces, often in two.


A clawless cat bats at a mouse,

Not aware of its impotence,

A mouth gaping for air, for teeth,

For a bubble to burst to breathe.


There are ghosts.

We walk among them, aware yet not;

They think for us and we them,

Yet given the moment,

We wake up in a cellar,

Far from where headed.


The cat slinks along, joined by his kin.

These — one yours, one black as this night —

Envelop you, claim you as theirs.


Even the candles ask questions of tonight.

Burn, burn, they sing with doubt,

While a roulette table sparks in the air.


It will not be a clear night.”


An Odyssey in the U.S. Healthcare System

•24 June 2016 • Leave a Comment

I’ve spent the past two weeks in hospital for various reasons, none of which I’m going to discuss publicly — not for fear of leaking personal information, but mostly because I don’t feel like going through it again — but which I will gladly respond with said reasons in response to any personal requests. So.

My doctor prescribed me 300 mg/day of a certain medication; 100 mg in the morning, 200 mg before I go to bed. This particular physician (understandably) wrote a script for 3x100mg tablets, one in the morning, two before bed. Three tablets in all. As it turns out, my local pharmacy where I’ve had all my medications filled since childhood tells me, my insurance won’t cover any medication that involves more than two tablets. Tablets, mind you; doesn’t matter if they’re 25mg or 5g, two *tablets.* What this means is that the pharmacy has to call the prescribing physician, who has to then write out two separate prescriptions, one for 100mg and another for 200mg. The same mass of this medication — 300mg in toto — yet, because the latter configuration means only two tablets, my insurance will cover it. How asinine.

If I Dream

•22 April 2016 • Leave a Comment

Where is light?

All I can try to see is darkness.

Oblivion is my future.

That’s all I can see if I dream.

Darkness spreading like a failed star,

An endless road of nothingness,

Spreading into, well, an eternity of that.


I don’t want to take that road,

Yet no other opens its way to me.



To MeiLu

•17 April 2016 • Leave a Comment

Beauty is the silence of an unbroken night. 

Beauty is that page not yet turned. 

Beauty is that perfect cross you know Wambach’s heading in. 

Beauty is that boy you’ve never met, but glances back at you after you get you morning coffee, and you just know. 

Beauty is Christmas lights in April. 

Beauty is Seurat up close. 

Beauty is the sand between one’s toes as Lake Michigan rolls endlessly in the foreground. 

Beauty is a cat’s plaintive cry when it’s clearly bedtime. 

Beauty is a bookstore’s smell when you first unlock the door. 

Beauty is that first kiss when nothing seems possible, but then everything is. 

A Four-Way Race?

•17 March 2016 • Leave a Comment

It’s conceivable; if, as is certainly possible, if not probable, the Republican nominee is selected at a brokered convention, and if, as is almost certain, Hillary earns the Democratic nomination, both Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders have the financial resources and committed supporters to mount effective independent campaigns. What would result would be complete chaos and is entirely unpredictable. The question is, would Bernie do it? (I think most politicos would agree with me that it would be entirely unsurprising were Trump to do so).

Or could it get even more complicated if, say, Mitt Romney were to jump in and make it a five-way race?

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