Tuesday, December 18, 2018


I do not have 
when I sleep.

I get downloads.

The universe
my helplessness,
the vulnerability
of my unconsciousness

and downloads
what becomes
into my
unsecured brain.

Most nights
the download
is an unholy melange,
of doubt,
and transcendence.

I pray that hackers
will not attempt
to break through
the rudimentary
security measures
I’ve installed
so I can operate
with the predictable
smoothness of glass,
of a perfect machine.

Some nights
the download is so real
I wake up scared,
praying to undo
what I saw in
the download.

Some nights
The Great Coder
compiles the lines
and I awaken
fresh and eager
to live out
these commands.

“So, then,
are you merely a Puppet
of the Great Coder?
What about
free will?”

I didn’t get here
because of any
free will choice 
I made,
so I don’t know
what free will

And, if free will
is something granted
by The Great Coder,
then can’t the code
be modified?

I don’t know,
just like
I don't know
the virgin birth,
life after death,
the mystery of the trilogy.

I have faith
and hope
that the next
might clarify

Pleasant dreams.

[Written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ]

Tuesday, December 04, 2018

Christmas Present (For the Brokenhearted)

Christmas Past
stays in yellowed,
attic memories,
re-appearing as
days get short
and the nights become
a cold, black
and the ache
in my soul finds
its way
from my childhood
to now.

Christmas Future
invariably promises more-
conspiratorial familial laughter,
opulent –themed rooms,
quiet spiritual contentment-
and predictably,
delivers far less
than my covetous dreaming
could ever imagine.

Both Christmases
are illusions,
yielding only
red and green
pangs of sadness.

This year
I’m foregoing both
and becoming
Christmas Present.

The Christmas Present,
but rather,
fully here
this year.

If I stay present
in this time and place,
I can sidestep
the pain and
the memories
that usually linger
well into
the next year.

Christmas Present
is my gift
to myself
this year.

[Written for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ]