No longer will you invade my path
steamroll my nights or
slash an afternoon delight

How many suns did I let you
set too early
screw up the clock and leave me

Weary, on watch for your next stab
at my heart
sick of being a pincushion

And now, firing up
a powerhouse of electrical charges
fierce as the flowers

A lonely blaze it is in and out the chambers
of memory, up and down valleys of my skull
where I learn to see in the dark

Smash monsters, squash your constant
nagging–whatever it is you want with my life,
you can’t have it.

          into the congress of evening
comes birdsong and windsong,
that assured stripe of light

I grew up with baloney.
I did not like baloney.
In summer, it sweated in wax paper sandwiches.
In winter, flecks of fat hardened in my lunch box.

Baloney is an afterthought, the remains of organs and trimmings
that are comminuted, reduced to minute particles
into the consistency of Elmer’s Wood Filler
with a scent like leathery wet work boots.

Ah, you say, you’re full of baloney, narrow-minded as a Democrat,
arrogant as a Republican.      Wait.      I have not gotten to taste.

Alone, baloney tastes like ambiguity,
the perilous fallacies of logic and rhetoric,
a simple fare of food that, alas, lacks common sense.

Thus, mustard stands at the ready to coat it and, on a kind day,
bring together conviction and compassion, strive to see
another’s point of view.      Like a blender, mixing
sweet pickles, onion, mayo, and yes, more mustard.

Okay, there’s one hypothesis on baloney. Are there more?
Multiple working hypotheses have a better chance
of becoming the right answer than running with the first idea.

Okay, so what if another hypothesis touted the nutritional value of animal fat,
salt, nutmeg, coriander, allspice, celery seed, black pepper.
Another, artistic expressions in German baloney, mortadella, ring baloney, rag baloney.
Another, the human need for nostalgia, that hillbilly heaven in the mind.
And yes, let’s revisit You’re-full-of-baloney, an expression that really speaks
to fear–the fear hiding inside unreasonable beliefs
the likes of which we have never seen.

How can I find those fears, become the best baloney detector? How do I know what
to believe. Thought tempted, I will not turn to Billy clubs, orators, or tight-fisted
demagogues. Instead, I will bring out my razor.
Occam’s razor, a convenient rule of thumb to urge me,
when faced with several hypotheses that explain data equally well,
to choose the simpler.

Either that or switch to calf brains, stewed tripe, or fried liver sausage.

Though honestly, I would rather move beyond all that, beyond Us and Them,
and study the heart, its pains and longings, its emotional responses.

That’s the best way to digest baloney.

1.23.17

Embrace family
Give space
Rest when weary

Thank water
Prepare to stop at the yellow
Buy repurposed

Find a purpose
Reserve judgment
Walk besides someone’s else purpose

When in doubt, doubt
When sad, dance
When empty, fill

Count the stars, every one
Put your mind in the spine
Find and release your emotional body

Ask more than tell
Practice trust
Wiggle a wee bit more

Shun fast food and fast fashion
Dismiss sheisters
Scatter laughter

And no matter what
Stay in love

By now

so many poems

are needed

each a droplet

of dirt

in the river

the ocean

the fierce snow

the collapsed moral

that made us think

we could take the

earth when it was

not ours

for the taking

but for the giving

the breathing

that watershed of

gratitude when

musical notes

like piano, bass, and drums

sang the sky

before the worry

the waterfall of pain

from the suicides

the homeless

the ex-lovers

parched for love

and filled with longing

mournful and

reaching for the high notes

finding

the bottom note

the sudden stop

dead air

verbal explosion

in a water bath

of positive and negative

that end

in battery,

assault, Trump,

this violent

seizing and

apoplectic greed.