Observation – September 5th, 2020, Saturday

The long September sunlight reflects off the sandstone and red brick of the building across the street, filtering back through the green leaves of the maple outside my window.

The window is open; there is traffic on Bryant and a rhythm to the sound of tires on pavement, as car after car rolls by; Kitty is sleeping on the ledge by the sill, curled up on her side.

I see patches of blue sky through the limbs of the tree.

The air in the apartment is cool.

There scent of cinnamon and cloves lingers in the air, I made eggrolls.

The Empty Set

Bound by doctrines of freedom, independence

Shackled to the ideal of autonomy, its contradictions

Waiting for a savior to emerge, living in the empty set


Alien priests and charlatans descend from the stars

Bargaining for the future with a wink and a nod, con-men

Selling pyramid schemes, bridges to the promised land


Remember the dream we were promised by Monroe

Manifest-destiny, genocide and terror, Westward Ho!


We blew the tops off mountains and set the prairie on fire

We cut the forests to the root, burying the grassland in dust

We poisoned the water, laced the air with toxins


Burning coal, pumping oil, smelting ore, splicing the atom

Celebrating freedom, liberty and progress, even as it kills us


We leapt from our peak, wings spread and falling in lament

A short flight for the broken-spirit, drowning in the lake of fire

Each and every aspiration, an occasion for disaster and ruin


We indemnified the priest who pushed us from the ledge

We circled the sun in tightening rings, decaying in our orbits


They sold us a seat at the electric circus, fed us styrofoam

We chased it with bile, a poor substitute for the body and blood

The synthetic eucharist, a gray-scale facsimile of the Son of Man


We abandoned the table of Mithra, the music of the spheres

Trying to recall the set of pinholes, piercing the curtain of night

The bright-silver lights, blinking in the dark, ghost of dead stars



Observation – August 5th, 2020, Wednesday

The scent of garlic and curry the apartment


I made a pot of lentils


For the first time in weeks the air conditioner is silent


The windows are open for a cross breeze


A dappled light comes in through the east windows


Filtered through the green leaves


Kitty is complaining about the taste of medicine in her food


The dry and dusty chondroitin that helps her with her joints