The Year of Real


for Kris

During this New Year, we will still be

governed by the soulless


flow of cash.  It’s the year where making

a killing translates solely to murder.  We


fill ourselves up with necessary

delusions blinding ourselves


to the shackles we all bear.  You can never be


in power when you are in debt

to an idea of worth that is worthlessly ascribed


by some ideology you never bothered

to learn.  This is the year when we begin


to realize free-will does not

include the pursuit of money.  It never can


be the Creator of happiness.  Rationality belongs to

the cool observer, but the will of man cannot be


to follow not reason but naïve faith

which requires not reality but illusion.


The Newness of This Old Thing


Here’s that so-called tablua rasa

you’re looking for—wipe it clean of all


malicious verbiage.  The sinful

syntax gets erased.  Night— that mildly


disappointing lady—is now just star

lit sky with maybe the sound of waves


lapping.  The farther away from

the neon and noise of city bustle

the more painted the sky


does become.  Strange how the city seems

to make a palimpsest of constellations,

but you know Ursa Major always has the better


part of the Big Dipper even if you are

blinded to the artistry.